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M. 





FRANK HOWARD HOWE 


Thy Name is 

Woman. 


NEW YORK 

BELFORD COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
18-22 East iSth Street 
[Publishers of Bel ford'' s Magazine'^ 


The Belfoid American Novel Series. No. 12. Annual Subscription, $15 oo. Issued weekly* 
Entered at the New York Post Office as second class matter, Aug. (8, 1890. 




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THY NAME IS WOMAN 




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THY NAME IS WOMAN 


FROM THE FRENCH OF 

DUBUT DE LAEOREST 


. \ 


BY 


FRANK HOWARD j HOWE 

AUMOR OF “A COLLEGE WIDOW,’' “ AN OCULAR DELUSION,’ 
“the new EVADNB,” BTC. 



BELFOED COMPANY, PuBLiSHERg 
18-22 East 18th Street 
[P ublishers of Belford’s Magazine^ 


* 



V 


Copyright, 1890, 

By BELFORD COMPANY 



A WORD OF INTRODUCTION. 


The heroine of this story is a catholic character. 
The type exists in all countries where civilization 
has grown old enough to be the mother of luxury. 
America is as well acquainted with it as France. 
In this city its name is legion. 

It has been a fruitful theme for novelists and 
poets. In “ Middlemarch ” Mrs. Lewes treated it 
in a decorous English way ; Thackeray much 
more boldly and skilfully in ‘'Vanity Fair.” 
Rebecca Sharp is perhaps an abler, a more intel- 
lectual woman than Rose Berias, but she is not 
truer to the passion that controlled both their 
lives — the love of admiration. 

In this book the type has been followed to its 
logical conclusion ; it has been pursued, so to 
speak, into its last ditch. It seems to me that 
men will like to have their wives and daughters 
read this story for the lesson it teaches; and I 
cannot help believing that every woman, even the 
lightest-minded, will lay it down with the thought 
that such a life is not after all worth living. 

F. H. H. 


New York, Sept, i, 1890. 


5 




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V 




THY NAME IS WOMAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

Mother, I say Rose will ruin us by her fool- 
ish extravagance.’* 

The speaker is' a little man, a peasant-farmer, 
whose body, bent almost at right angles by the 
labor of a lifetime, seems to bow respectfully to 
the earth from which has flowed his fortune. 
Francis Berias is now nearly fifty. In his youth 
he had selected for the partner of his joys and 
sorrows a large, fresh girl, with red-lipped, laugh- 
ing mouth, and the solid hips that the function of 
maternity requires. It is to this girl now grown 
a gray-haired woman to whom he speaks. 

Francis and Janette live only for their daughter 
Rose, who has just graduated from the private 
academy of the ladies Castel at St. Cyprian. Al- 
though the young girl has been out of school not 
more than two months, suitors for her hand 
abound on all sides. The Beriases are known to 
be rich. Under the sobriquet of “ Big-Purse,” 
Francis Berias is a magnate of the village of 
Jarry’s Cross. The nickname, which explains 

7 


Thy Name is Woma7t, 


itself, comes from the big leathern purse in which 
Francis is in the habit of stowing his money — at 
least such as is not deposited in the neighboring 
banks — said to amount to at least fifty thousand 
francs. 

Rose’s childhood had been passed in the village. 
Before becoming one of the friskiest girls at the 
Castel seminary, she had gone through the pri- 
mary school at Jarry’s Cross. She was a mis- 
chievous and cruel young one. At sowing-time 
she loved to stone the little birds that came to 
steal the seeds from the furrows in the fields. 
During the summer she delighted in catching 
butterflies and pinning them up on the walls of 
her chamber. Then she would stand by and 
calmly watch the agonized flutterings of the tor- 
tured insects’ wings. 

One of the things remembered of her in after- 
years was her habit of playing truant from school 
for the purpose of watching the operations of the 
wandering tinkers who made the rounds in the 
country every six months. One day she was 
amusing herself looking at a handsome new can- 
dlestick exposed for sale in the sunlight. The 
shopman had gone to dinner and had left her alone 
with a big dog, Porthos, who was comfortably 
sleeping in the warmth of the small coal-stove on 
which stood a vessel containing melted tin. Rose 
looked all around to see if any one was observing. 
There being no one in sight, she deliberately 


Thy Name is Woman. 


9 


picked up the bowl and threw the burning con- 
tents on the head of the brute. The poor dog 
jumped up, yelling frightfully. Rose ran home. 
But that evening when the affair got wind, she 
received a good whipping. When asked why she 
had done such a cruel thing, she looked her in- 
terlocutor in the eye and said with a laugh, I 
wanted to see what would happen.'' 

The old villagers shook their heads, and as they 
could not believe in cruelty like this being pre- 
meditated, they began to look upon Rose as a 
kind of “ natural." They said she could not have 
known what she was doing ; that she must have 
acted under the influence of some evil spirit. 

Many facts like these showed the girl's indomi- 
table disposition, her desire for notoriety and her 
thirst for cruelty. With all this she had a cun- 
ning, caressing manner, she was as pretty as a 
picture, and she was an adept in escaping un- 
harmed from the consequences of her mischievous 
deeds. 

But added years had softened these evil tenden- 
cies in the little country-girl. The young grad- 
uate of the Castel academy who now sits flirting 
the leaves of a book that lies open before her has 
nothing in common with the peasant-child of long 
ago. 

Rose is an only child. She is expected to 
marry a gentleman some day, and to be a lady of 
society. Still, Mother Janette did not get angry 


10 


Thy Name is Woman, 


yesterday when the hard-working son of farmer 
Pitois had the audacity to ask for her daughter’s 
hand. The Beriases, though rich, do not look 
down upon the farmer class. They belong to it 
themselves. Nevertheless they believe in better- 
ing themselves in the social scale when it comes 
to a question of marriage. So they wait for a 
suitable offer. 

Rose was a tall, handsome brunette, fresh as the 
flower for which she was named. Her hands were 
a bit too red, notwithstanding she did for them all 
that toilet soaps and powders could do. She 
was a pretty creature, though, and she knew it. 

To-day, Saturday, is market-day at Saint Cy- 
prian. Rose throws down her book and goes 
upstairs to dress for her journey to town with her 
parents. Janette is already dressed. Father 
Berias fumes and frets while his daughter dawdles 
over the gewgaws of her rather tawdry toilette. 

“ Well, I can’t go out dressed like a servant^ 
and I won’t !” exclaims Rose. Ma, where’s my 
shawl ?” 

“ It’s very warm : you won’t need it.” 

I tell you I won’t go out this way.” 

There, there dear; here are the keys of the 
linen-closet.” 

The young girl opens the closet, gets on a 
chair, and throws things about in her search for 
the shawl. 

It is above there, near the wheat-sacks.” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


1 1 

^^Did any one ever hear of putting a shawl 
alongside of wheat-sacks !” 

And Rose angrily throws down the sacks and a 
lot of bedclothes, which her mother uncomplain- 
ingly folds up again on the kitchen-table. 

The young lady wears a light gray dress, a straw 
hat ornamented with blue flowers, and a little 
white veil. She gives a last glance into the mir- 
ror, simpers and looks at her mother, 

‘‘You are going to dress, are you not, mamma?'’ 

“To go to market ? Oh no. It’s hardly ^worth 
the trouble.” 

“ And your brown dress ?” 

“ I’m going to keep that for your wedding.” 

“We shall see a good many people to-day. If 
you wish to please me, mother, you will put on 
your brown dress.” 

“ Rose — ” 

“ Please.” 

“ Oh, if you insist.” 

“ Always those wretched shoes, too !” exclaims 
Rose, when her mother has assumed the new 
dress. 

“ Oh, please don’t make me put on my boots. 
They hurt me so. My feet have been sore ever 
since I wore them last time, a week ago.” 

“Are you ever going to get ready?” calls 
Francis, from the wagon outside. He has put on 
his blue coat with brass buttons to do honor to 
his daughter. 


12 


Thy Name is Woman, 


The big mare is harnessed to the wagon in the 
courtyard. One of the farm-hands helps the 
ladies in, and old Poulotte jogs off. As they pass 
along the highway lined with tall poplars, the old 
man delights to point out to his daughter the ex- 
tent of his possessions and the improvements he 
has made thereon, together with the cost and 
prospective increase in value, and so forth. But 
as Rose does not like figures, she soon wearies of 
this. Janette, who wears a fluted bonnet loaded 
down with flowers and as stiff as a bishop's mitre, 
changes the subject. 

‘^'We must have some money for your mar- 
riage-portion, my pet, when the right person 
comes along. Young Pitois offered himself yes- 
terday.” 

The young girl w^is tugging at a pair of gloves 
considerably too small for her. 

“ He ought to know that I am not for him,” 
she said peevishly. 

At this point old Berias gave the reins to his 
wife and got out. They had reached the long 
Rennet hill, and the farmer liked to save old 
Poulotte as much as possible. 

“ See here. Rosy dear, be reasonable,” said the 
mother when they were out of hearing. *‘We 
are considering an offer for your hand now.” 

A farmer?” 

No, no. Listen ; speak low. He is a gentle- 
man — a notary.” 


Thy Name is Woman, 


13 


A notary !” exclaimed Rose, with a dazzling 
smile. ^‘Oh, speak, mamma; tell me what it all 
means.” 

^^You know Monsieur Faure?” whispered Ja- 
nette, excitedly, carried away by her daughter’s 
enthusiasm. 

'^Madame Dupre’s business agent? Yes. Well? 
Oh, I am dying — ” 

Well, he wants to make a match between you 
and Monsieur Prosper Parent, the young man 
who is going to buy Monsieur Cornet’s business. 
The trouble is he has no fortune. But he is pru- 
dent and sober ; he has a good figure — ” 

He is not handsome.” 

''Oh, beauty is not a man’s business. He 
comes of a good family.” 

" And he’ll be a notary.” 

" As you say, he’ll be a notary, — at Saint Cyp- 
rian, right near by.” 

'^Oh, how mad that will make Blanchette, who 
is going to marry a foundling !” 

" Yes ; but I am afraid your father will not give 
his consent. Monsieur Parent has no fortune.” 

The mare stopped here to let her master get 
in. 

" Good Poulotte ! how well she knows me !” 
said Berias, taking the reins. Then he called to 
some drovers on their way to town, whom they 
were just passing: " I’d take you aboard if I had 
room. But, you see, there’s three of us.” 


14 


Thy Name is Woman. 


Thanks, Monsieur Berias, thanks.” 

Monsieur Berias ! They were beginning to call 
him Monsieur Berias. Francis blushed with 
pleasure. 

'^What a thing it is to have a fortune !” he 
chuckled. Twenty-five years ago I was one of 
Count de GalleuFs farm-hands. They called me 
simply Francis then. Afterwards when I began 
to make money they called me ' Big-Purse,’ be- 
cause they were jealous of me. Now I am Mon- 
sieur Berias. Ah, a grand thing is money !” 

Papa,” said Rose, ‘‘ you ought not to speak 
about the days when you were a farm-hand. 
Some one will hear you.” 

‘‘But I am proud of it, daughter. I didn’t 
steal my money. I earned it, I bet you.” 

“Daughter is right,” said the mother, quickly. 
“ Don’t always be talking about the same thing. 
Get everybody used to calling you Monsieur Be- 
rias. That’s what you should do.” 

Soon they reached Saint Cyprian, a pretty little 
country town with painted church-steeples, prim 
straight streets, clean white houses, and trim gar- 
dens half in sunshine, half in shadow. The ladies 
got out in front of the Castel seminary, opposite 
the Golden Chariot inn. 

“ All right,” said Berias, “ here wc are. Go 
and make your visits. I am going to the market. 
When will you get through with all your er- 
rands ?” 


Thy Name is Woman, 1 5 

About five o’clock/’ 

Oh, that’ll be too late. The boys at home ’ll 
be sure to forget to feed the cattle.” 

‘‘You are always fussing!” exclaimed Rose, 
sharply. “ Will you never get used to having 
yourself served by somebody else ?” 

“ Daughter,” stammered the old man, “ I am 
thinking more of you than of myself. It is your 
fortune that I am looking out for. Don’t be 
cross with me.” 

As her father spoke he began to unharness the 
mare, taking the greatest pains the while not to 
soil the new collar and the freshly oiled harness. 
His daughter looked at him for a moment in si- 
lence. 

“ Call the hostler, can’t you ?” she exclaimed an- 
grily. “ People will say you are doing your own 
work in order to save feeing the servants.” 

But quickly recovering her temper. Rose mur- 
mured sweetly in her father’s ear : 

“You won’t mind, papa, if mamma buys me a 
new dress at Madame Julie’s, will you? You 
want me to do you proud, don’t you, papa ?” 

Berias fell at once before her caressing manner. 

“ Your mother has the purse,” was all he said. 

“ Ah, mamma, see, papa wants me to have a 
dress just like that one of Gabrielle Lavellois.” 

While the hostler was assisting the old man to 
unhitch his horse, the ladies entered the Castel 
academy. Rose went at once to join her old 


i6 


Thy Name is Wojnait. 


schoolmates in the playground. The Castel 
ladies greeted her mother in the seminary parlor. 

Well, Madame Berias,’* said Miss Amanda 
Castel, an old lady who wore spectacles, we 
understand you are about to marry off your 
daughter.’’ 

Yes, I suppose so ; but there is no hurry. A 
thing like marriage is always too soon done if 
badly done, isn’t it?” 

‘‘Oh, but that could never happen to Rose. 
She is a charming child who would make any man 
happy. Haven’t you made a choice yet ?” 

Janette shook her head in silence. 

“ Ah, you are hiding something. That is not 
right, Madame Berias. You know I am a second 
mother to your child.” 

“ Nothing is decided,” stammered Janette, thus 
appealed to. Monsieur Faure — ” 

“ Ah ! Monsieur Faure — an excellent man. He 
will make no mistake.” 

“ Madame Castel, you will be discreet, won’t 
you ? We are thinking of Monsieur Parent.” 

“ Prosper Parent — that big young fellow who 
used to follow the girls’ promenades on Sunday ? 
But he has no fortune.” 

“ That’s the trouble. But they say he is worthy 
and sober — ” 

“Very sober and good. Yes, he will let her 
lead him round by the nose.” 

“ Nothing is settled yet, madamc.” 


Thy Name is Woman, 




Then Rose will come to live at Saint Cyprian. 
Monsieur Cornet will leave his business to your 
son-in-law. That will be very nice. I hope it 
will all come out so, Madame Berias. You know 
what an interest I take in my old pupil. If you 
can put us to any use, my sister and I are at your 
disposal.” 

Soon Rose came in from the playground, and 
the two ladies took their leave. They walked 
down the street which led to the market-place. 
Rose walked erect, with sweeping stride, her 
ankles well arched. Behind her trotted Janette, 
doing her best to imitate her daughter’s carriage. 
But the mother's good-will did not prevent the 
daughter from making some ill-natured remarks 
on the subject. 

Ma, don’t try to mimic me. People don’t 
walk like that. You drive me wild.” 

Directly they entered Madame Julie’s shop. 
Rose made them unroll all their goods, and finally 
chose a dress of blue material with white stripes, 
with which she intended to drive all the young 
women of Saint Cyprian wild with envy. Her 
mother also consented to get her a new pair of 
corsets in place of the wretched seminary affairs ; 
also a dozen handkerchiefs, which Rose would 
embroider herself. Janette emptied her purse. 
Madame Julie did not wish to take the money. 
It was not customary, she said, to be paid ex- 
cept on delivery. But Madame Berias was obsti- 


Thy Name is Woman, 


iS 

nate on this point. She caused a smile to go 
round the circle of clerks when she presented her- 
self before the cashier, saying, 

We make debts? Not much. We have money, 
and we pay as we go.” 

Rose attempted to stop her mother’s foolish 
boasting, but at bottom she was not at all sorry 
to hear her fortune bragged about. As the two 
ladies passed out, the clerks saluted them ceremo- 
niously as good patrons. 

If,” said Janette, when they were in the 
street and she had taken her daughter’s arm — If 
we pass before Monsieur Cornet’s office on North_ 
Street we may see — ” 

“ Monsieur Parent ? A good idea. I want to 
see if he is as homely as ever.” 

He is not homely.” 

Very well, ma ; but you will admit there are 
handsomer fellows than he. Now, Marquis de 
Jamaye’s son — ” 

“ Oh yes ; but the count is not for us, my pet.” 

I know that,” said Rose, moodily. After 
all. I’d rather be Madame Parent, the notary’s 
wife, than the wife of a man who does nothing.” 

Mother and daughter had now reached the end 
of North Street, and had come in sight of the 
gilded signs of Monsieur Cornet shining in the 
sunlight. The office was full of farmers. Pros- 
per was nowhere to be seen. 


Thy Name is Woman 


19 


^‘Anyway/’ said Rose, ''/’m not going to live 
in that shanty.’' 

'‘Oh, the house is not bad,” said Janette. " If 
the marriage takes place, I think it will be best 
to get on the right side of Monsieur Cornet.” 

“ Oh, that won’t be difficult.” 

By this time they had arrived in front of the 
Golden Chariot Inn, which they entered wearily, 
encumbered as they were with their bundles of 
packages done up in brown paper. 

" There are your ladies,” said a little old^man 
to Berias. The two were talking in an animated 
manner behind the long line of wagons and car- 
riages that blocked up the market-place. 

The little old man was Monsieur Faure, a law- 
yer of the neighboring town of Ruy. He was a 
thin, wiry old fellow, always on the lookout for 
business, sharp and shrewd, but much esteemed 
in the countyside for his honesty and other ster- 
ling qualities. 

He saluted Madame Berias, and winked cun- 
ningly at her, as much as to say that Francis had 
not as yet been won over to his ideas about the 
marriage. 

" Can’t you convince him ?” queried Janette. 

"A beggar like that!” exclaimed Berias, 
" Never. I’d rather have a farmer and done with 
it.” 

" Come, come. Papa Berias,” said Monsieur 
Faure, soothingly, "don’t get excited. We’ll talk 


20 


Thy Name is Woman, 


it all over together at Jarry’s Cross to-morrow, 
after we Ve slept on it.” 

Rose twisted her parasol and seemed to take no 
interest in the conversation. 

''Well talk to-morrow,” repeated Faure. " Wc 
will arrange a little affair that has nothing at all 
to do with Miss Rose. Eh, Rose ?” 

" What, Monsieur Faure ?” queried Rose, inno- 
cently. 

" Nothing. You’ll see later. Haven’t your 
ears burned to-day?” 

" No, indeed.” 

" Well, I know some one who has been saying 
lots of nice things about Miss Berias. You will 
make a regular gossip of me and the old man 
went away laughing. 

Meanwhile old Berias was as red as a turkey- 
gobbler, where he sat huddled together on the 
front seat of the wagon as they jogged home- 
ward. He was silent, but inwardly raging. 

" What’s the matter?” asked Janette. 

"What’s the matter? Monsieur Faure is a 
knave or a fool.” 

" Monsieur Faure ? Oh, how can you say 
so ?” 

" I like him,” observed Rose, dryly. " He’s a 
dear old gentleman.” 

"What is the matter?” repeated the farmer. 
" Faure wishes to ruin us. But I am the master 
here. It shall not be.” 


Thy Name is Woman, 2 1 

But what is it ? Tell us. What is the 
matter?” 

The matter is that he wants to marry our 
daughter to a lad who hasn’t a cent — not a foot 
of land. This Parent — ” 

Monsieur Parent is a very upright young 
man,” said Rose. 

Yes, indeed,” added Janette, 

‘'Then you knew?” 

“Yes, we knew, and we were going to talk it 
over with you this evening.” 

The little old man, ordinarily so kind to his 
Poulotte, gave her such a furious lash with the 
whip that she reared and nearly fell over back- 
ward. 

“Then, by damn,” he roared, “it shall not be !” 

“Are you mad ?” exclaimed Janette. 

“ Mother, take the reins,” said Rose, coolly. 

Again they passed by the Berias properties. 
The poor old man surveyed them sorrowfully. 
He felt his heart sink within him as he thought 
of the son-in-law who was coming to be their 
ruin. 

That evening as mother and daughter were sit- 
ting together in the kitchen after the supper- 
things had been cleared away, Rose said, 

“Mamma, I like Monsieur Faure very much.” 

“You are right, my child. We ought to have 
a kindly feeling for those who interest themselves 


22 


Thy Name is Woman, 


in our welfare. Monsieur Parent does not dis- 
please you much ?'’ 

No. He looks kind. I think I shall be 
happy with him. You see, ma, I am not going 
to live in the country any longer. I must have 
society.” 

But aren’t you afraid of the hostility of the 
Saint Cyprian ladies ? There are already people 
who mock at us in the street.” 

Oh yes, envious people. But I’ll shut them up.” 

After all, daughter, I can’t blame you. You 
ought to profit by your good fortune. I wouldn’t 
know how to get used to being a lady. But it 
is different with you. You have been educated. 
You are a young lady.” 

When she had gone to bed that night, Rose 
dreamed of her future. She thought that once 
married there would be no end to her happiness. 
They laughed at Saint Cyprian on market-days 
when she sported a new toilette. She would 
teach them that a lady may dress as she pleases 
when she possesses money and has a gentleman 
for her husband. Madame Parent. It was not 
a bad name, indeed. It sounded better than 
Berias. The future was a mere question of obser- 
vation and patience. At first, no doubt, she 
would have some trouble in adapting herself to 
the ways of good society. But she would get 
used to it little by little, and she would profit by 
watching how others did. 


Thy Nmne is Woman. 


23 


CHAPTER II. 

The day after market-day at Saint Cyprian, 
the young clerk in Cornet's office appeared dis- 
turbed. 

‘‘ My dear Prosper, you are somewhat pensive 
this morning," said the notary to him as he sat 
with his face buried in his hands. 

Prosper raised his head. He, seemed to be 
waking from a dream. As his eyes met those of 
his old friend, he blushed. 

Oh," went on the old gentleman, good-natur- 
edly, ‘‘ there's no reason why a fellow who is go- 
ing to take to himself a wife should not waste a 
few moments from his business. What the devil 
do you want to conceal? You are old enough, 
and there's a fortune to be gained. Madame 
Cornet and I are delighted at it all. The office 
couldn't fall into better hands. You may have 
all the time you want to pay us in. Old Francis 
has a good big lot of money laid aside, they say. 
Little Miss Berias is a bit countrified, to be sure. 
But, pshaw ! she is just out of school. She'll 
soon develop. Ah, she's pretty enough to eat. 
My dear Prosper, you are going to be as happy as 
two turtlc-dov^s.” 


24 


Thy Name is Woman, 


The young fellow did not attempt to stop this 
avalanche of words. Monsieur Cornet was a per- 
fect windbag. A good business man and an ex- 
cellent lawyer, he was yet an interminable gossip. 
He had practised his profession for twenty-five 
years, and was now president of the Chamber of 
Notaries of the province. As soon as his business 
should be sold out, he was sure of being made 
county judge. He had no children, and his ex- 
pectation was to retire to his place in the country, 
whence he would come to town once a week to 
hold court. He had wished to sell his business to 
his clerk for a long time past. But Prosper was 
not able to pay cash, and obstinately refused to 
buy on credit, notwithstanding the old gentleman's 
good-natured rallying. 

'' Get out, you idiot !" Cornet would say. Ma- 
dame Cornet and I have no heirs, have we ? The 
whole thing is bound to come to you some day. 
What's the matter with you ?" 

If the negotiation just undertaken by Monsieur 
Faure should be successful, however, Prosper 
would be able, after having married Miss Berias, 
to pay for the business out of his wife's portion, 
and so get rid of his unpleasant scruples. 

Prosper Parent was an orphan. Being one of 
the brightest boys in school, he had won many 
prizes, which it had been Monsieur Cornet's duty 
as chief visitor to confer on him. Gradually the 
older man had taken the boy under his protection, 


Thy Name is Woman, 


25 


and later into his office. Afterwards an accident 
had bound the two still more closely together. 
Monsieur Cornet’s horse had one day run away 
with him, and the old gentleman would undoubt- 
edly have had his brains dashed out against a wall 
had not his clerk, who happened to be hard by, 
jumped at the furious horse’s head and, at the 
imminent risk of his own life, held on until he fin- 
ally brought the brute to a stand. 

He was a tall young fellow, with a pleasant and 
even timid expression of countenance. His blue 
eyes shone with good-nature ; his big bony hands 
denoted an uncommon degree of physical strength. 
His carriage was rather slouching. A curious 
thing was noticeable about him as he walked. 
His great shoulders seemed to bend beneath the 
weight of some invisible burden. It was as if the 
young giant were trying to conceal the fact of his 
enormous muscular development. He had rosy 
cheeks ; his beard was rather straggling. A small 
brown mustache, of the same color as his short 
thick hair, shaded his big mouth and his large 
white teeth. 

He was twenty-six years of age. Ever since 
coming out of school he had worked in the office 
alongside of old Clapier, a model of exactness and 
promptitude. Clapier had been there eighteen 
years. He was very fond of Prosper, and looked 
forward with pleasure to the time when he should 
be his clerk. 


26 


Thy Name is Woman, 


About three o’clock in the afternoon of that 
day Monsieur Faure entered Monsieur Cornet’s 
office. Prosper was alone. He was dreaming of 
the beautiful face he had so often watched as it 
passed by in the prim procession of the seminary 
young ladies. How he had for months dreamed 
of that face, waking and sleeping ! But, alas ! he 
had no fortune. She could never be his. He was 
only building air-castles. When he awoke from his 
revery and found good Monsieur Faure seated be- 
side him, his agitation became extreme. The old 
gentleman slapped him pleasantly on the back, and 
said, 

“ Prosper, you’ll have to burn a candle in my 
honor. Your affair is as good as accomplished,” 
Prosper turned pale. 

Then she does not find me too ugly — or too 
big — or too poor.^” 

Too ugly? You are splendid. Too big? I’d 
like to have your figure. Too poor? The busi- 
ness is worth ten thousand francs a year. My 
dear fellow, the wedding will take place within 
six weeks. Old Berias will have to come round.” 

Oh, then Monsieur Berias does’nt want me 
for a son-in-law?” 

I didn’t say that. Francis’ only objection is 
that you haven’t any fortune. But his wife and I 
are going to beat it into his thick skull that your 
business will bring in more than both his farms 


Thy Name is Woman. 27 

together. As for Rose, she can hardly contain 
her joy.” 

But Miss Rose does not know me.” 

'' She knows you perfectly well. She has seen 
you at church a hundred times.” 

I believe I can make her happy.” 

‘'Monsieur Clapier,” said Faure to the old 
clerk, ^ who at that moment entered, “you will 
come to the wedding, won't you ?” 

“ It is true, then, what they are saying all over 
town ? Ah ! so much the better. Good ! good !” 

Clapier had never been so eloquent in his life. 
He warmly pressed the hand of his coming chief 
and went back to his work, whistling softly. With 
Clapier this was always the sign of a light heart. 

Monsieur Faure and Prosper talked on a 
few moments more, and then separated after hav- 
ing made an engagement to call together the next^ 
day at Jarry's Cross. 

Berias had calmed down a good deal overnight. 
His wife had treated him to a good long Caudle 
lecture in the privacy of their chamber. She 
dwelt upon the very good thing that Prosper 
would have in the Cornet business, and upon his 
future inheritance of the Cornet fortune. She 
praised Prospers ability, integrity, and sobriety 
to such good effect that by morning her husband 
did not have a leg to stand upon, as she afterwards 
good-humoredly expressed it to Monsieur Faure. 
So the next day when the latter and Prosper pre- 


28 


Thy Name is Wo?na7t. 


sented themselves at the White House (by which 
name the Berias residence was known in the 
countryside), they were surprised and not a little 
pleased at the reception accorded them by the 
old farmer. 

They were invited to stay to dinner. At this 
meal the young lady assisted. She was very 
prettily dressed and appeared modestly uncon- 
scious of what was going forward. Monsieur 
Faure gallantly kissed her forehead, and Prosper 
blushingly bowed to her. 

At table Francis had much to say about a dis- 
ease that was ravaging the vineyards thereabouts. 
The old merchant dwelt learnedly on certain 
methods of improving vine-culture. After the 
dessert Monsieur Faure produced some cigars. 
Francis tried one. 

‘‘ Father, that will make you sick,” said his 
daughter. Don't you smoke. Monsieur Parent ?” 

No, miss.” 

“See there, now!” exclaimed Monsieur Faure, 
in a rallying tone, “ he hasn't a fault.” 

The two young people went out to walk in the 
garden. 

“You work pretty hard at Monsieur Cornet's?'’ 
was Rose's first query. 

“ Oh yes, miss.” 

“ Does Madame Cornet give evening parties ?” 

“ No, miss. We live very quietly.” 


Thy Name is Woman, 


29 


Did you go to tlie last ball at the sub-pre- 
fect’s ? Did you have a nice time ?” 

I don’t know how to dance, miss,” said the 
young man, blushing. 

They had reached a big oak tree in the garden, 
the lowermost branch of which had been bent 
down so as to form a species of settee. Rose 
made Prosper sit down, and the big young fellow 
began to tell her his dreams, timidly at first, until 
the girl’s great eyes emboldened him to a wider 
confidence. 

On the piazza Berias chewed away at his cigar, 
which he had lighted in vain ten times at least. 
At last he threw it away. Janette picked it up. 

It’s good to drive bugs away with,” she said. 

Well, Francis,” said Monsieur Faure at last, 
pointing out into the garden where the young 
people’s voices could be heard in animated con- 
versation, “ you see the thing is going its own 
gait.” 

Yes, I suppose so, devil take it !” growled the 
old fellow, not yet completely won over. 

''You must invite him to come again,” said 
Janette. " That is the proper thing to do.” 

So, later on, when Prosper was taking his leave, 
the farmer said to him, graciously enough. 

" If you care to come and see us. Monsieur 
Parent, we shall be glad to have you.” 

Thus urged, the young clerk became a frequent 
visitor at Jarry’s Cross. His wooing prospered 


30 


Thy Name is Woman. 


bravely. Won over by the strong desires of his 
wife and daughter, Berias at last gave his consent. 
The wedding took place with a degree of pomp 
and circumstance such as Jarry’s Cross had never 
before witnessed. 

To do honor to my heroine, I should be glad 
to give my readers some account of the ceremony, 
and especially of the bride’s resplendent toilette, 
in which you may be sure she looked a perfect 
queen-rose. But my business is rather with her 
future life, and I content myself here with chron- 
icling the fact that the wedding, as a social event, 
was a success unsurpassed in the annals of that 
countryside. 

After the wedding the two young married peo- 
ple remained for two days at Jarry’s Cross. They 
were long days to both : to the bride because she 
yearned to begin enjoying her new home at St. 
Cyprian ; to Prosper because he burned to be alone 
— alone with his bride and his love. Rose was very 
complaisant to her young husband, and he on his 
part followed her about like a spaniel. 

In their housekeeping plans the bride expressed 
a variety of ideas, each one more extravagant 
than its predecessor. Her mother raised her 
hands in horror. But the young husband invari- 
ably sided with his wife. 

‘^You are the sole mistress,” he would say. 
Whereupon Rose would smile upon him charm- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


31 


ingly, which would raise the poor fool to the 
seventh heaven of happiness. 

The notary rented them his house with all its 
furniture just as it was. For the time being Rose 
had to content herself with the old calico curtains 
and the unfashionable beds of the former rigime. 
But Prosper expected soon to become the pos- 
sessor of one of the handsomest places in the city. 
Until then the young bride made a nest for her- 
self in the prettiest chamber in the house. There, 
confident of the future, she began in a small way 
to realize her dreams. 


32 


Thy Name is Woman. 


CHAPTER III. 

Four years passed rapidly away. A lovely 
little daughter, whom they called Andree, came 
to gladden the hearts of the Parent family. 

The notary adored his wife. He sought every 
occasion possible to escape from his office so as to 
slip upstairs and surprise her with a long loving 
kiss. Generally she received him amiably. But 
sometimes when she repulsed him he would re- 
turn to the office so awkwardly that Clapier had 
no difficulty in perceiving that his young employ- 
er’s happiness was not altogether unalloyed. 

The community had great confidence in Mon- 
sieur Parent. His marriage had established his 
credit. His serious disposition attracted the sym- 
pathy of all who came in contact with him. Every 
Sunday the peasant-farmers would bring the sav- 
ings of the week to deposit with him. The new 
notary was given unlimited control over these de- 
posits, which aggregated a large amount. 

Monsieur Cornet had, as foreseen, been made 
county judge. After the session of court on 
Thursday, if he found he had time before return- 
ing to his home in the country, he would look in 
at the office and spend a quiet half-hour in the 


Thy Name is Woman. 


33 


presence of the old familiar pigeon-holes stuffed 
with dusty papers. 

Meanwhile, the Parents had moved into their new 
house. It was built in the Oriental style and was 
surrounded by pretty gardens and trim lawns, its 
roof being half concealed beneath luxuriant foliage 
which protected it from the rays of the sun. Rose 
felt that her real life had not begun until she per- 
ceived herself surrounded by the luxury which 
manifested itself on every side in her new home. 

The notary never said a word as the heavy vans 
of the truckmen brought to the house loads of 
the handsomest furniture from the best Parisian 
houses. Father Berias was stupefied by what he 
saw. But Janette declared that Rose was quite 
right. There was no need to be uneasy. Notaries 
could make money as fast as they pleased. 

Rose had such sweet little teasing ways for 
overcoming the objections of her husband on the 
few occasions when he ventured to oppose her. 

‘‘ But, my darling,*' he would say, “ you have 
already a handsome bureau and dressing-table for 
that room." 

Prosper," she would reply, let your own 
little wife do as she wants to. We shall have 
company sometimes. We don’t want our guests 
to think they would be better off in an inn." 

At first the young married people slept together. 
But Madame Parent found out that it was the 
proper thing for a wife to have a chamber of her 


34 


Thy Name is Woman, 


own. The reading of certain romances rather 
sharpened her ideas on this point. She took 
especial delight in the adventures of Queen Mar- 
got, who received her lovers everywhere, even 
under her husband’s nose. So a separate cham- 
ber was furnished for Prosper. 

One evening Madame Parent gave a little din- 
ner to a few friends. There had been some differ- 
ence between husband and wife as to whether the 
Berias family should be invited or not. But Rose 
had settled the dispute by saying. 

Pa and ma would not feel comfortable in the 
company of people with whom they are not well 
acquainted.” 

Parent said nothing more, and the Beriases 
quietly took their daughter’s hint that they had 
better stay at home. 

It was a cold clear January day. The snow had 
been falling for some minutes, and the white flakes 
were beginning to collect upon the window-panes, 
when Laverie, the footman, announced, 

Madame is served.” . - 

The conversation was a little dull at the com- 
mencement of the dinner. - But it had become 
quite lively by the time the dessert arrived. Pros- 
per, seated opposite his wife, had at his right 
hand Madame Gavier, the yife of the sub-prefect ; 
at his left their next-door.ijeighbor, Madame Lou- 
dois. Then came Monsieur Cornet, Monsieur 
Faure, Colonel Benjamin^ an old retired officer 


Thy Name is Woman. 


35 


who wore his uniform at all times by special per- 
mission. Near Rose were the sub-prefect ; Mon- 
sieur Loudois, the mayor ; Monsieur Victor Mou- 
lineau, the poet-painter ; and lastly a tall, blond 
young fellow, who had come evidently without 
ceremony, being dressed in a blue coat and gray 
trousers, with a silk handkerchief carelessly stick- 
ing out of his breast-pocket. This was George 
Loudois, the mayor's son. His mother had 
begged him to assume a more suitable costume 
for the dinner, but he had shrugged his shoulders, 
saying it was not worth while bothering for the 
Parents. 

The tall young fellow conversed well and freely. 
PTom time to time he tried to catch Rose's eye. 
But she, busied with the management of the din- 
ner, did not observe him. He consoled himself 
by plunging into an animated conversation with 
the wife of the sub-prefect, who was immensely 
flattered by his attentions. 

After dinner the guests, including the ladies, 
began a game of baccarat. Madame Gavier lost, 
much to her discomfort. Thereupon she com- 
menced a system of flagrant cheating, besides 
borrowing boldly and persistently from the funds 
of the players on either side of her, which at last 
caused a sharp remonstrance from her husband. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen the servants were 
gossiping furiously. 


36 Thy Name is Woman. 

Is Jarry’s Cross far?” asked Margaret, the 
new cook. 

“ About an hour and a half on foot.” 

Do the old people come often to Saint Cyp- 
rian ?” 

No, not often,” said the footman. ‘‘ My lady 
is ashamed of them.” 

‘‘ Well,” said Margaret, I don’t blame her. It 
is a bore to have peasant-people like that at table. 
Indeed they ought to keep little Andr^e away 
from the farm more than they do, I think.” 

Oh, but Madame doesn’t like to hear her 
cry. So they keep her most of the time at Jarry’s 
Cross with her nurse.” 

‘‘ What an old chatterbox that Loudois woman 
is !” observed Laverie. 

“ Don’t talk to me about her. She has changed 
her servants four times in two months. She 
drives her son George half wild with her tantrums.” 

She is an ugly old thing. Nevertheless the 
mayor need not envy the other men.” 

‘‘ The mayor was a gay lad in his youth, I bet.” 

They are dancing,” exclaimed the cook, as the 
sound of piano-music penetrated to the kitchen. 

Do they give many receptions here ?” 

Every week.” 

And do our people go out much ?” 

'‘Yes, to the mayor’s and the sub-prefect’s.” 

“ Very good. The next time they go out we’ll 
have a party ourselves.” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


37 


When the guests had gone, Parent looked about 
upon the scene of disorder in the dining-room. 

What a muss !’' he exclaimed. 

‘‘You are always finding fault with something/’ 
cried Rose, hotly. 

“ My dear wife,” the poor husband rejoined 
humbly, “ it is because I feared you were going 
to have some trouble with your servants.” 

He followed her to her bedroom, and as she 
took down her hair offered to kiss her neck. 

“ Don’t bother me,” she cried. “Can’t you see 
I’m tired to death?” • 

He sat down humbly on a lounge and began to 
admire the beautiful long tresses that hung in 
thick masses over her embroidered chemise. 

“ How beautiful you are !” 

“ Please don’t.” 

“ Well, kiss me, then. There, on the forehead.” 

“ Oh, be reasonable. There, then. Now go 
away.” 

She double-locked the door as soon as he was 
gone. She slept badly, or rather not at all. The 
candle burned dully on the night-table. The 
winter wind shook the window-panes disagreeably. 
The snow, now turned to rain, beat monotonously 
upon the glass. With her pretty head slightly 
bolstered up by the laced pillow. Rose read her 
novel. From time to time she turned a leaf and 
then, shivering, drew her hand back under the 
cover. Her imagination meanwhile was filled 


38 


Thy Name is Woman. 


with all the gallant adventures of which she had 
read. She did not know, she said to herself, that 
her life was going to be so calm and stupid. She 
half wished she were not married. 

A step was heard outside. 

Is that you. Prosper?” 

Yes ; I saw a light in your room. It is almost 
dawn. Are you sick, dear?” 

“ No. It is gone. Will you come in?” 

She got up, threw off her peignoir of blue velvet, 
stepped into her slippers, and opened the door. 
The rustling of the peignoir as it fell on the car- 
pet, the frou-frou of the eider-down quilt as she 
threw it back, gave Prosper to understand that he 
might enter his wife’s chamber. He came in and 
felt himself intoxicated by the scent of this wo- 
man’s sleeping-room. He came up to the bed, 
lifted the peignoir from where it lay on the floor, 
and lit another candle. 

Any one would say you were afraid of me,” 
sighed Rose, putting her arms around her hus- 
band’s neck. 

You don’t dislike me any longer, then, do 
you t 

“ Why no, dear ; what nonsense !” 

Then I must make a confession. Will you 
forgive me? I have been listening at the door. 
Do you know you have been talking to youself 

I have?” 

Rose dear, can’t you see that it is not real 


Thy Name is Woma^t, 


39 


life that is pictured in these novels that you read ? 
They all lie — they are written only to amuse. 
The only happy existence for a man is a life 
passed by the side of a loved and revered wife. 
Can't you be content just to be my wife, and ban- 
ish from your mind the foolish dreams that these 
silly books inspire ?” 

'‘You are right, Prosper. I read too many 
novels. My imagination is led astray. You are 
a dear, and I am sorry I sent you away just now." 

" Give up the books and begin with your piano 
again. That will furnish you distraction.^' 

" My music is a little rusty. But I will try if 
it will please you." 

"I am not such a bad fellow, am I, Rose? 
Don't you think you are a little cruel to grieve me 
as you do sometimes ? And we have been so 
happy these four years past." 

" We shall still be so, dear." 

" I know that I am not as loverlike sometimes 
as perhaps I might be. But it is because I spend 
so much time over those musty papers in my 
office." 

" I love you as you are, Prosper." 

“Truly?" 

“Yes. See here." 

She embraced him with a sudden passion that 
seemed to die as quickly as it was born. 

“ Now go. Prosper. I am not feeling well, and 
I am very tired. Good-by." 


40 


Thy Name is Woman, 


Good-by, my best-beloved.” 

He went out slowly, stopping at the door to 
look back at the charming picture made by his 
wife, her pretty head lying on the pillow with 
her white arms thrown languorously over it, while 
a caressing smile hovered about her pouting lips. 
Prosper went to his office that morning with a 
light heart ; he was eager to work for his charm- 
ing Rose. 

The Beriases now rarely came to see the Parents. 
Francis could not forget his being relegated to 
the second table by his daughter on a certain 
market-day when he had come in to dinner. 
Janette reddened with anger when she heard of 
it. She had made quite a scene at the time, but, 
as usual, had soon cooled off, and was her old trac- 
table self again when Rose went to visit at Jarry’s 
Cross to see her little girl Andr^e. For the in- 
stinct of maternity was not entirely dead in the 
young woman’s heart. In her way she was passion- 
ately fond of her child. She could spend entire 
days fondling her, dressing and undressing her, and 
playing at the game of mamma ” or any other 
childish sport that struck her whimsical fancy. 
She received every day a love-letter from her hus- 
band, who, poor fellow, was very lonesome dur^ 
ing her absence, but glad at learning that she and 
the child were happy. These letters did her good. 
She promised to become economical, to devote 


Thy Name is Woman. 


41 


herself to the education of her child. But, alas ! 
a single invitation to a dancing-party was suffi- 
cient to dissipate all these good resolutions. She 
wrote at once to Paris for a dress. She became 
feverish to know what the other ladies would 
wear. It was her ambition to be the best-dressed 
woman on the dancing-floor. 

“ I must go back to Saint Cyprian," she ex- 
claimed to her parents. There is going to be a 
ball. If I am not there the rest of the women 
will be too well pleased, and I don’t intend they 
shall be." 


42 


Thy Name is Woman, 


CHAPTER IV. 

Monsieur Faure was famous all the country 
through for his ability in selling property, real or 
personal, at public or private sale. He was always 
in great demand at the dinner-tables of the nota- 
ries, who vied with each other in lavishing atten- 
tions upon the wiry little man. But he gave the 
best of his business to the Saint Cyprian office. 

One day Rose met Monsieur Faure in her hus- 
band's office. He had come to see Prosper about 
the sale of a neighboring farm at public vendue, 
which was to occur the following day. 

Is it a good thing for us, Monsieur Faure ?" 
she asked. 

Very good, little one — beg pardon — madame.*’ 

Oh, call me ‘ little Rose,' as you used to do 
when you danced me on your knee. I confess 1 
don't like familiarity from people whom I know 
but slightly, but I should be sad indeed if an old 
friend like you should think it necessary to put 
on airs with me." 

She graciously gave him her hand. 

Like the English, you know," she laughed. 
‘‘It's the fashion now. How much will the sale 
bring us ?" 


Thy Name is Woman, 


43 


Twelve hundred francs at least, eh, Prosper?” 

Yes, if we get the price we hope for.” 

The next day, the day of the sale, was a Sun- 
day. In the afternoon all the farmers from the 
countryside gathered at Legrand’s inn, near the 
farm that was to be sold — an estate called The 
Thermettes.” Their wives accompanied them. 
It was altogether quite a fete-day. The men drank 
wine, the women lemonade. A dinner had been 
provided by Monsieur Faure to which ample jus- 
tice was done by all. After this the real business 
of the day was introduced by the old lawyer and 
his auctioneer. '' The Thermettes” was being sold 
at public vendue because its master’s wife had 
ruined him by her extravagance. This fact gave 
rise to the following bit of gossip overheard at 
dinner between two farmers’ wives : 

This is what comes,” said one, ^^of too extrav- 
agant living. Monsieur Parent is fortunate in 
being able to make money in such big lumps. His 
wife costs him a pretty penny.” 

'' Oh, don’t speak to me of that brat,” grumbled 
the other ancient dame. '' ' Big-Purse ’ puts on a 
lot of style now, doesn’t she? Why, I’ve boxed 
the jade’s ears a hundred times for teasing my 
goat Bicquotte. She’s so proud she’ll hardly look 
at her poor old father nowadays. She makes me 
sick.” 

She’ll come to no good,” rejoined number one. 
“ She has less heart than my pug Lulu.. Do you 


44 


Thy Name is Woman. 


know she doesn’t see her little girl for months 
together. If I owned her I’d spank her.” 

During the progress of the sale Prosper became 
very uneasy. He was continually looking out of 
the front door for his wife. Rose had gone to 
dine with some friends who lived not far from the 
inn. She was to rejoin her husband when the 
sale was over and return with him to town. 

“What’s the matter, Prosper?” queried Mon- 
sieur Faure at last. 

“ I am worried about Rose. Why does she not 
come, I wonder. It is five o’clock. I’m afraid 
one of her bad headaches has taken her again.” 

“ What does the doctor say about her head- 
aches ?” 

“Oh, always the same thing. He prescribes 
bromide of potassium. But she does not improve. 
It almost kills me to see her sick.” 

At this moment Rose appeared at the doorway 
supported by Madame Dumeniaux, the lady at 
whose house she had been dining. She was ex- 
tremely pale, and at once sank into the chair which 
Monsieur Faure hastened to place for her. It 
appeared that she had had a sudden attack of ill- 
ness at her friend’s house. It was, however, not 
very serious, since a little cold orange and sugar 
water had served to bring her around. They had 
wished to put her to bed, but she had refused. All 
of this put the young husband into a great state 
of excitement. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


45 


must go home at once, Monsieur Faure/' 
he exclaimed, we must go home at once. Have 
the horses harnessed immediately.” 

But the sale ?” 

Oh, damn the sale ! My wife — my poor, poor 
wife !” 

And before the astonished farmers he knelt dis- 
tractedly by the side of his wife and began to rub 
her forehead with his handkerchief dipped in am- 
•monia-water, crying the while, 

They can get another notary. We must go 
home at once.” 

The next day Rose spent in her room, in morn- 
ing-wrapper, with the blinds closed, in that semi- 
darkness which she liked so well. She refused to 
receive callers with the exception of Madame 
Loudois. When that kidy had gone, she heard a 
sharp ring at the door-bell. Peeping out of the 
window, she beheld George Loudois. He was leav- 
ing his card after inquiring about her health. He 
was very handsome. He appeared to her like one 
of those heroes of old romance with whom her 
imagination was peopled. She compared him in 
all his graceful bearing to the awkward fellow now 
working away in the office below. She shut her 
eyes so that the mental vision might not escape. 
It seemed as if some mysterious new feeling to 
which her heart had hitherto been a stranger had 
taken possession of her. She went and stood be- 
fore her glass. She was pale, very pale. But from 


46 


Thy Name is Woman. 


the depths of her dark eyes there flashed upon 
her a glance that told her she was worthy the 
most passionate love. 

The next morning when she awoke they brought 
her a big box that had just come from Paris. 

‘‘ It is my new costume/' she cried. Margaret, 
go and tell Monsieur Parent to come up here at 
once.'* 

Margaret had not to go far, for Prosper was lis- 
tening at the door, to enjoy the surprise and de- 
light of his wife. 

Oh, I feel better already !” cried Rose, when 
she saw him. How good you are ! I am so 
happy! But I am ruining you." 

Don’t worry. Rose dear. Some moneys have 
come in that T did not expect. The Vanneau 
estate has payed me a pretty penny. You shall 
have your cashmere cloak too. I don’t want my 
little wife to have to envy other women anything." 

She took his hand and carried it to her lips. 

Some days later Prosper might have been seen 
running about from door to door trying to borrow 
from his friends money enough to pay the regis- 
try-fees of some deeds. 

That woman will be his ruin," moaned old 
Clapier, almost in tears. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


47 


CHAPTER V. 

Monsieur Loudois’ house was next to that of 
the notary. The grounds were separated partly 
by a little brook and partly by an old tumble-down 
wall. The two iamilies were on such good terms 
that neither had cared to mend the wall, and as a 
consequence of this neglect the weather had been 
permitted to make a large breach in one part of 
it. Through this breach ordinary communication 
was kept up between the two families. They no 
longer had to go round by the street. George 
had been the first one to inaugurate the custom, 
when he one day slipped through the breach for 
the purpose of coming over and smoking a cigar- 
ette with Prosper in his garden. Afterwards both 
families profited by his example. 

George Loudois, accustomed to Parisian life, 
was often bored at Saint Cyprian. The notary 
said to him one day. 

Come and make yourself at home in my of- 
fice. That will serve to distract you, and by and 
by you will get used to our little town.’' 

'‘He is right,” said George to himself. "It’ll 
take the nonsense out of me. The companionship 
of a good fellow like Prosper will be good for me. 
He rests me.” 


48 


Thy Name is Woman, 


One Sunday in April, Rose, who was still far 
from well, met the mayor's son in the garden. 
She had come out to breathe the perfume of the 
lilies, just in bloom, and also to get rid of the 
noise of the office. On the other side of the old 
wall George was reading a paper. He raised his 
head on hearing the sound made by Rose's little 
feet on the gravelled pathway. 

''Oh, I didn’t know you were there,” exclaimed 
the young woman. " How you scared me !” 

“ I never moved at all,” laughed George. 

" Has your mother gone to church ?” 

" Yes, father, mother, servants, and all. The 
whole household is at church.” 

" And you ?” 

The young man glanced up quickly at Rose. 
Her face was rather pale, but under the little 
coquettish cap that shaded the Madonna face 
George saw something that made his heart jump 
into his throat — a sort of indefinable beckoning to 
his desires. 

"One doesn’t live here in the country,” he said 
after a pause. " One simply drags a ball and 
chain.” 

"Oh, that’s not polite of you. You know I 
have always lived in the country.” 

" Forgive me. I only mean that life is a bore 
when no one loves you.” 

" You must get married.” 

" Get married?” 


Thy Name is Woman, 


49 


'' Certainly. Ought not all young people to 
settle down some time ? Your mother would be 
very glad, I know, to have a pretty daughter-in- 
law. And that reminds me: they are talking of 
your approaching marriage.’' 

And to whom do they assign me, pray?” 

'‘To your charming cousin. Miss Varennes.” 

“ Marie ? 

" Don’t you think you could love her ?” 

" Oh, there is a cousinly friendship between us. 
But love is another matter.” 

" Love always comes in the end.” 

" Do you think so ?” George exclaimed, turning 
red and then pale. 

The church bell broke in upon their talk. 

“ They are saying the benediction,” murmured 
Rose. " They’ll be out in a moment. Good-by, 
Monsieur Loudois.” 

" Good-by.” 

George had not dared to avow the love that 
had sprung up in his heart for this woman. But 
he knew that he adored her. Did she under- 
stand ? How many nights he had sat in his 
chamber, sorrowful and dejected, and gazed upon 
the light shining from the Parent windows ! When 
the light was put out, how he had raged with 
jealousy ! How he had sworn that another man 
should not possess this woman whom he loved 
with his whole soul ! And now Rose dared to 
talk to him about marriage with another, as if 


50 


Thy Name is Woman, 


she did not know that she herself was the sole 
obstacle to such a marriage ! 

He paced up and down the garden-path, fum- 
ing. This woman, this country-girl^ at whom he 
had been wont to sneer, should he permit the 
pretty devil to enslave him ? 

George was at bottom a conscientious fellow. 
The idea of deceiving his bosom-friend was hor- 
rible to him. He despised himself for entertain- 
ing it for a moment. Then before his mental 
vision came Marie, his fiancee, sweet and fair, 
garnished with all the virtues. How dare he 
compare Marie Varennes, a girl of distinction and 
breeding, with this Big-Purse’' at whom even 
the peasants sneered ! 

He took counsel with his parents that same 
evening. He told them he had had enough of 
bachelor life. He would marry his cousin when- 
ever they wished. 

George, my dear child, how good you are !” 
exclaimed the delighted mother. I knew you 
would come to our way of thinking.” 

Marie will be a happy girl,” said his father, 
grasping his hand cordially. 

“ But let it be settled at once, father.” 

Ha, ha ! You are in a hurry, my dear fellow, 
eh ? But give us time to put up the bans, do. 
To-morrow we’ll go out to the Bastides to see 
Aunt Simeon.” 

Madame Loudois made a confidant of Rose. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


51 

George is going to be married/’ 

To Miss Varennes ?” 

‘‘Yes, my dear. We are delighted. He de- 
cided on it rather suddenly. He has for the past 
few weeks been entertaining the wildest projects. 
Fancy! he wanted to go to India. He wanted to 
become an exile for the rest of his life. But I 
brought him round. Dear fellow, he has a heart 
of gold. My niece Marie is a charming creature, 
as sweet as a cherub. Oh, how happy I am !” 

About this time Rose became very religious. She 
sought distraction. from the desires that gnawed 
at her heart by absorbing herself in prayer be- 
neath the vaulted roof of the village church, while 
the air around her trembled with the deep sono- 
rous tones of the organ. The solemnity of the 
church and the faint odor of the sacred incense 
brought a certain degree of quiet to her disturbed 
mind. But it was not for long. By and by the 
sermons began to weary her. She wished to 
avoid the throng of worshippers who crowded the 
church. It seemed as if her secret ecstasies were 
marred and blurred by the sight of fashionable 
toilettes, and by the voices of those who carried 
on the service. 

One evening she took her way, through the 
twilight, to a little chapel which she had had 
erected at the end of the garden. The night was 
dark and still. She knelt before the great white 


52 Thy Name is Woman. 

plaster figure of the Virgin, and prayed for strength 
to enable her to still love her husband, and to 
drive away the evil thoughts that haunted her 
even in her prayers. 

Prosper, uneasy at the disappearance of his wife, 
had stolen out after her, and had reached the 
little chapel just as she was rising from her knees. 
She gently took his arm and drew him along a 
garden-path. As she walked she talked of the 
cares of the household, of the consolation that 
her prayers had given her, of the great danger 
young women ran in reading too many novels, 
and of other kindred subjects. She vowed to 
change her mode of life, and formed many plans 
for the future happiness of her child. Her illness 
had vanished. She rested her head upon her 
husband’s breast and wept happy tears. She and 
he were wrapped together in a holy calm. 

But this fit of conscientiousness was unhappily 
only too short-lived. In a few weeks the young 
wife recommenced her feverish, disordered mode 
of living. 

Every Saturday the Parents gave a dinner. 
Among the guests were the county judge, Mon- 
sieur Faure, Colonel Benjamin, the Marquis of 
Jammaye, a rich client of Prosper’s, and Monsieur 
Victor Moulineau. 

This Moulineau was a unique character. He 
was called ‘‘ Pouter ” from his habit of carrying 
his chest well forward like a pouter-pigeon. Be- 


Thy Name is Woman, 


S3 


sides making verses and daubing a little with 
paints, he was the band-master of Saint Cyprian. 
He was short and stout, but his head and face 
closely resembled those of Leopold II., King of 
the Belgians. He was a professional heart-breaker, 
yearned to compromise himself with married 
women, winked meaningly at every pretty face he 
saw, and was fond of declaring that Madame de 
Mersay, a noble lady who occupied a neighboring 
chateau, was dead in love with him. Having been 
once in the army, he declared that a military life 
was the only bearable one. He averred that the 
fact that he, Moulineau, had never advanced be- 
yond the corporal's grade was due to his colonel's 
jealousy of him on account of his wife, a passionate 
little blonde. He neglected to say that he had 
been thrice broken by a court-martial, and that 
the end of his term of service had been greeted 
by a sigh of relief from all his comrades. The 
truth was that there was more bombast than 
malice in his lies. He never deigned to perceive 
the incredulous smiles of his auditors. It was un- 
derstood that he carried about with him a list of 
his conquests, which was said to embrace all the 
most respectable ladies of Saint Cyprian. Vanity 
so ruled him that he was always willing to ruin 
himself in order to be thought rich. It was worth 
while to see him in his chamber, mounted on a 
chair, surveying himself in his mirror, and declar- 
ing in a rapturous voice, 


S4 


Thy Name is Woman. 


** O Nature, two inches more and thy handi* 
work would be perfect !” 

Rose hated Moulineau. He was to her mind a 
petty, ugly, boastful boor. But she dissembled 
her dislike, fearing his tongue. Once, however, 
the old fellow, being a little in his cups, had de- 
clared his passion for her. Whereupon Rose had 
boxed his ears so soundly as to secure her from 
that time forth from a renewal of the disagreeable 
subject. 

It was upon this Saturday that the marriage of 
young Loudois was announced. After dinner 
there was a deal of talk about it in the drawing- 
room. 

‘‘ Madame Loudois is very happy over it all,** 
observed Madame Cornet. They said that 
George could not abide country life.’* 

*‘Ah, bah!” exclaimed Moulineau, roughly. 

You can get used to anything. I used to live in 
Paris myself. I have recited my poems before 
the Emperor. I had a great success both in 
literature and upon the stage. Very good. But 
now it is different. I wish for rest, for peace, for 
repose. When I was young I dreamed of pitch- 
ing my tent amid the far-off sands of the desert. 
To-day I am willing to die here at home in my 
own bed.** 

** Were you at the wedding?** 

Oh Lord, no !** 

‘‘ There were very few people, I believe ?** 


Thy Name is Woman, 


55 


* ■ Only the family/' said Rose. ‘‘ Prosper dined 
there the day the marriage-contract was signed." 

The young lady will be welcome to Saint Cy- 
prian's society." 

‘‘ Yes, if she can get along with her mother-in- 
law she will be all right." 

When will they be back from their wedding- 
tour?" 

In about a month." 

They take their time." 

They can afford to : they are rich." 

Meanwhile the household affairs of the Parent 
family were going from bad to worse, and Prosper 
was becoming more and more involved in debt. 
He had borrowed money from his father-in-law 
until the old farmer now refused to lend him an- 
other penny. 

When the young Loudois couple returned to 
Saint Cyprian from their wedding tour in Italy, 
George was deeply in love with his young wife. 
Marie was a little creature, white and fresh as a 
rose after a shower, with a sheaf of flaxen hair, 
and with blue eyes in which shone the pale flame 
of maidenly chastity. 

The usual visits were paid and returned. 

Madame Parent is very pleasant," the young 
bride remarked after meeting Rose. 

^^Yes," said her husband, carelessly, ‘‘but she 
is not at all stylish — a mere villager." 


56 


Thy Name is Woman, 


That’s the first time I ever heard you say any- 
thing disagreeable about any one, George dear.” 

“ I was wrong. Forgive me, love.” 

George and Marie gave themselves up to long 
evenings of love-making, while the swans in the 
garden-pools below toyed with each other as if 
influenced by the example of the young lovers 
who were plainly visible in the moonlight from 
the Parent piazza. 

‘‘ How happy they are !” murmured Prosper. 

“Think so?” sneered Rose. “ It is always like 
that at the beginning.” 

“Don’t talk so, dear. You know how I suffer 
because I am not able to give you all you long for.” 

“ Oh, don’t begin that nonsense again.” 

“ Rose !” 

“ Yes, I have had enough of your canting. You 
refuse me even the most necessary things. Why, 
that costume that I — ” 

“ But think — a thousand francs : it is a very 
large sum, and we are not rich.” 

“ We are not rich ! Why, you know it is my 
money.” 

“ But I work.” 

“Work! Bah! your colleagues laugh at you. 
That sale of the Cernier farm — they even got that 
away from you.” 

“ I couldn’t raise the sum necessary to pay the 
expense of registering the deeds.” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


57 


^‘You couldn't? Well, what has become of all 
those large sums you said were owed to you ?" 

I lied to you." 

‘‘ Lied to me ?" 

‘‘ I had to borrow to get you what you wanted. 
Have pity upon me, Rose. I am in a desperate 
situation. I don't know which way to turn." 

“ Then it's your own fault, you fool. Bah ! you 
disgust me." 

Rose went to her room in high dudgeon. 
Prosper followed humbly. He sat down on the 
foot of the bed and looked at his wife as she dis- 
robed. Tears glittered in his eyes. Rose thought 
him silly and cowardly to cry like that. If he 
really loved her, would he not have gone and de- 
manded the money of her own family? There 
was plenty of money at Jarry's Cross. But he 
was afraid of being humiliated by a refusal. True 
love would hesitate at nothing. No, indeed; he 
did not love her — he did not love her. 

Prosper brushed his hand across his eyes and 
got up. He promised to go the next day and tell 
Janette all about it. If she would not listen to 
him, then he would manage some other way. But 
at all events Rose should have her new dress for 
the sub-prefect's ball. 

When Prosper had gone, Rose, half undressed 
as she was, went to the window and peeped out 
from between the curtains. She could see in the 
shadows below the still figure of a man leaning 


58 


Thy Name is Woman, 


against the big hazel-nut tree that stood in their 
garden. It was George Loudois. The young wife 
had disappeared. Rose gazed at him for a mo- 
ment with mingled feelings of love and dread. 
Then, fearful lest she might be observed by the 
young man himself, she dropped the curtains 
hastily and threw herself upon her bed. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


59 


CHAPTER VI. 

Prosper went to Jarry’s Cross the next day. 
Old Berias was at work in the hay-field ; Janette 
was busy over some clothes that had just come 
from the wash. 

Hullo, son-in-law,” she exclaimed, on catching 
sight of Parent. How are you ? Rose isn’t sick, 
is she? Nor the little one? What’s the matter? 
You look as pale as this linen.” 

Mother,” groaned the young man, I am very 
unhappy.” 

Thereupon he gave Janette a full account of 
his troubles, taking care at the same time to so 
arrange his story as not to awaken the old lady’s 
anger more than possible. He begged her to 
induce Berias to come to his aid. He took all 
the blame on himself. Rose was not at all in 
fault. He should have looked out for the ex- 
penses of the household ; henceforward he would 
be more careful. When he had finished, Janette 
shook her head gravely. 

^^In short,” she said, ^‘you want more money. 
Well, we haven’t any more. You know you owe 
us twenty-eight thousand francs already. All our 
savings are swallowed up. This cannot go om 


6o 


Thy Name is Woman, 


We had laid by a good deal, but think how many 
privations we have had to endure all our lives in 
order to do so. You wouldn't beggar us in our 
old age, would you? We have done all we could. 
Then think of little Andree. By the way, why 
didn't you bring her? She is happier here than 
at home. But you never come to see us, you and 
Rose, except when you want money." 

Thereupon the old lady went back to her work 
again. But she was a soft-hearted creature, too. 
When she saw Prosper sitting dejectedly in his 
chair, with his face in his hands, she hesitated a 
moment ; then going to him, and taking his hands 
in hers, she exclaimed good-naturedly, 

“ There, there, son-in-law, don't take it so hard. 
I was a little too harsh, perhaps. Come, I’ll see 
Francis. We’ll borrow the money if necessary. 
For I know you can't help it. You are economi- 
cal enough. It’s Rose’s fault. I shall have to 
talk to her." 

How good you are !" murmured Prosper, bro- 
kenly. 

Come, come," continued the good woman, 
bustling about. ‘‘You are still in the dumps. 
We’ll borrow the money, I tell you. Ah, here 
comes Francis.” 

In fact, the old farmer at that moment entered, 
after having carefully wiped his shoes on the grass 
outside. 

“Ah, Monsieur Parent," he exclaimed. Fran- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


6i 


cis sometimes forgot and called his son-in-law 
Monsieur/’ ‘‘ How are Rose and Andr^e ?” 

Come, father,” said his wife, ‘‘ you are over- 
heated. You’ll take cold.” 

“ Yes, mother, I am not as strong as I used to 
be. I’m getting old. I shall have to take to 
woman’s work.” 

He mopped his face with a big bandanna hand- 
kerchief, and sat down astride of a chair with his 
back to the fireplace, in which burned a few 
fagots. 

Anything new, son-in-law ?” 

Janette leaned over her husband’s shoulder and 
whispered into his ear. 

‘‘That’s always the way,” exclaimed the old 
man, when he had listened for a moment. “ I 
told you we should come to curse this marriage. 
They want to be gentlemen and ladies, and mean- 
while the savings of our whole life go up in smoke. 
They spend in a day what we could live on for 
three months. They take everything we have. 
Now the neighbors have begun to call me ‘Little- 
Purse ’ and laugh at me. Monsieur Parent, I will 
not ruin myself. I am too old to work. I began 
life as a farm-hand, and I don’t want to go back 
to it. I won’t go back to it. I won’t — ” 

The old man’s voice was broken with anger and 
his eyes burned like a fiery furnace. Parent stam- 
mered some words of apology, and then Janette 
intervened in her daughter’s defence. 


62 


Thy Name is Woman, 


** Rose thought she was richer than she is/’ she 
urged. But she is growing older and wiser now. 
We must forgive her.” 

‘‘Women never know the value of money,” re- 
plied the old man. “ If we mortgage our land 
that will be the end of us. We can give you 
nothing. You don’t want to send us to the poor- 
house, do you ?” 

The notary explained that he did not wish to 
beg, but only to borrow. He would be able to 
pay. Last year he had made upwards of ten 
thousand francs, and this year his business would 
be better. He would not trouble them further, 
however. Some fees would be coming in soon. 
His creditors would have to wait. And he took 
his leave. 

Arrived at home, he went at once to his wife’s 
room. She was undressing little Andr^e. 

“ Isn’t she pretty, our little daughter?” was the 
mother’s first remark. Then she asked, “ They 
didn’t refuse, did they?” 

“ They would not listen to me.” 

“Then I must — ” 

“Oh, I shall have enough money from other 
sources.” 

“Then I can have my costume?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ How good you are. Prosper ! You don’t want 
your little wife to be dressed like a cook, do you ? 
Never fear. I shall be beautiful.” 


Thy Name is Woman, 


63 


^‘You are beautiful,” sighed the poor devil, 
clasping his big hands and gazing at her with all 
his eyes. 

Oh, you great flatterer ! and you haven’t kissed 
me yet.” 

‘‘ My Rose !” 

Believe me. Prosper, the happiest marriages 
are those where there is an occasional quarrel. It 
is so sweet to make up afterwards.” 

I trust your headache will not trouble you the 
night of the ball, darling.” 

Oh, never fear. The ball will be superb. 
There will be beautiful toilettes. You will be 
proud of your foolish little wife. Prosper.” 


64 


Thy Name is Woman, 


CHAPTER VII. 

The grand ball at the sub-prefect's took place 
on the 6th of June. All Saint Cyprian had pre- 
pared its best bib and tucker for the great event. 

Rose was finishing her toilette. She was robed 
in a superb dress of English lace. She was pin- 
ning a bunch of tea-roses in her corsage and taking 
a last admiring glance at herself in her mirror, 
when Prosper entered in evening dress. He re- 
mained on the threshold as if petrified with ad- 
miration, and exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a 
young lover, 

‘‘ How beautiful you are. Rose !" 

Think so?" with a silvery laugh. 

He approached her where she stood before the 
glass and pressed a passionate kiss upon her throat. 

A man need not be handsome if he is only 
clever, eh ?" he said. 

But you are good-looking, Prosper, too — rather. 
Andr^e looks like you a little. See, she is asleep." 
She led him to the alcove where the baby's cradle 
was. “How pretty a sleeping baby is, isn't it?" 
she sighed, 

Andr^e's head, with its silky golden curls, lay 
lightly on the lace pillow. The rosebud mouth, 


Thy Naine is Woman, 


65 • 

half open and smiling, seemed to beg for kisses. 
Prosper, fearing to wake her, lightly kissed her 
brow, and then softly covered her with the silken 
coverlet. 

‘‘ Rose, a house with such an angel to watch over 
it is indeed blessed.” 

I think it is time to go, dear,” said Rose. 

Let me kiss you once for our child.” 

Oh, you will muss me. You must not make 
love like that all the time. It is irritating.” 

‘‘You complain of not being loved.” 

“ I ?” The faintest touch of irony hovered in 
her eyes for a moment. 

“ We don’t need to be among the first,” he 
urged. 

“Nor among the last,” she said. 

At the sub-prefect’s, when Rose entered the 
drawing-room upon her husband’s arm, she was 
greeted by a murmur of approbation from the 
men who stood near the doorway, while the 
ladies bit their lips in surprise and envy. 

“The notary is going to the dogs,” was whis- 
pered. 

“Yes, and the ‘Big-Purse’ Beriases are in a 
great to-do about it.’' 

The rooms filled up rapidly. The sub-prefect 
talked affably with the member from the district, 
a handsome young man, nephew of a Cabinet 
Minister, who bore one of the greatest names in 
France. They were surrounded by several of 


66 Thy Name is Woman. 

the leading citizens, the young man s constitu- 
ents. There was some fear that a certain leading 
physician would canvass the district against him. 
The question was whether something could not 
be done to stop this. 

‘‘Yes,'' said the member. Count Berk de Ville- 
mont, “ there is one thing that will stop him — the 
cross of the Legion of Honor." 

“ To be sure — the cross. That will do it." 

“ Will he take it ?" 

“Yes, and with both hands, too. He will be- 
come more of a Bonapartist than either of us." 

The young Count moved away and, approach- 
ing Rose, offered his felicitations upon her looks 
and toilette. Madame Parent felt herself to be 
indeed the queen of the ball. She smiled gra- 
ciously upon the member, and taking his arm, 
moved with him into the dancing-room. When 
they had finished their waltz, they joined Madame 
Gavier and her mother, Madame de Carreuse, who 
were discussing with some of the guests the ap- 
proaching ball at the prefecture at Pensol. Ma- 
dame Carreuse was saying, 

“ The prefect charged me to inform Saint Cyp- 
rian society about it. There will be some excel- 
lent music. Madame Parent, you will have a 
chance to hear some of the finest artists of the 
country." 

“ I have been intrusted," said de Villemont, 
“ with the business of looking after the musical 


TJiy Name is Woman, 67 

talent. ^Madame Parent, I know you are a good 
musician. Won’t you help me?” 

Rose thanked him with an adorable smile. 
‘"Aha!” she thought, they are beginning to see 
that I am somebody.” 

By this time the non-dancers, including Prosper, 
were busily engaged at the card-tables in an ad- 
joining room, baccarat appearing to be the favorite 
game. George Loudois approached, and offering 
his arm to Rose, led her again to the dancing- 
room, where the strains of the waltz from ‘‘ Faust” 
were languorously rising on the air. 

What delicious music !” murmured George, as 
they started off. 

Oh yes,” sighed Rose. 

It raises one to a more delightful world. It 
sinks one in a dream that one would have eternal. 
Unpleasant realities disappear.” 

'' It seems to me you are not very compliment- 
ary to your pretty little wife — and you so recently 
married, too.” 

'' Oh, please don’t spoil my dream.” 

'•'You owe your happiness to me. You must 
not forget that.” 

" I will never forget it,” whispered George. 
His voice trembled with excitement. 

"You hold me too close, sir. You hurt me.” 

" Pardon — pardon, madame.” 

" Where is my husband? do you know ?” 

" He is in the card-room,” 


68 


Thy Name is Woman, 


Oh, please be careful. You are bruising my 
hand, you hold it so tight.” 

The intoxicating music of the waltz still rose 
upon the air. First it was like some languorous 
invitation, some whisper of love. Then it swept 
through the room in a wild whirlwind of harmony, 
which in turn melted into a melody tender and low 
that seemed to lull the liearts of the dancers into 
sweet ecstatic dreams. 

What a poet Gounod is !” said Rose as they 
whirled by young Madame Loudois, who ap- 
peared to be regarding them attentively. 

‘'Yes, and a good comrade, too.” 

“ You know him ?” 

“ Quite well. I met him at Naples two years 
ago. You are right, madam e ; he is not a musician 
so much as a poet. Why don’t you play more 
yourself? You are an artist.” 

“ Oh, don’t laugh at me.” 

“ No, I assure you — ” 

“ How do you know I can play?” 

“ I listen to you evenings.” 

“ Don’t speak of it, then. People might not 
think it proper.” 

“ Oh, but we are known to be neighbors and 
good friends.” 

George presses her closer to him. The black 
of his trousers is buried in the white foam of her 
lace dress. Their bosoms touch. The young 
woman, half-unconscious, abandons herself to the 


Thy Name is Woman, 


69 


intoxicating rhythm of the delicious waltz. The 
floor and ceiling seem to join each other in the 
mad whirl. The time quickens. The lights 
from the great chandelier dazzle her. The tea- 
roses tremble in her corsage. She seems no 
longer to be upon her feet. Now she glides off into 
the cadences of the music, and anon writhes about 
the great light of the chandelier like an adder 
love-sick for the sun. Little drops of perspiration 
stand upon her brow. Her quivering nostrils di- 
late as if to inhale some sweet odor long forgot. 
Her mouth, always so fresh, now dried by the 
heat of the room, gasps for breath. The moist- 
ure from her whole body seems to rise and strike 
her in the face. She feels faint and giddy. Once 
or twice she bends back with heaving breast and 
straining limbs as if to tear herself loose from the 
fatal whirl. But soon she ceases to struggle. 
Everything spins round her. The furniture and 
the ladies seated about the room seem to bow 
to her in the cadence of the music. The lights 
come down from the walls and take part in the 
dance. 

I must tell you something,” George was mur- 
muring in her ear. “I have struggled against it 
—I can do so no longer. You are killing me. I 
love you !” 

Sir— sir !” 

“ Yes, I tried to forget. I married because you 


70 


Thy Name is Woman. 


wished me to. I do not love her — my wife. It is 
your image which haunts me always — always.” 

For God's sake !” 

“ I am a wretch, I know.” 

In Heaven’s name!” 

Forgive me. I adore you. O Rose, I love 
you with my whole heart !” 

It is cowardly in you to compromise your 
wife so.” 

From the card-room came the confused sounds 
of play. 

‘‘ I bet twenty-five louis.” 

‘‘ Banco for his Majesty, Leopold. Hurrah for 
Pouter !” 

Moulineau was winning, and was accordingly in 
the seventh heaven of satisfied vanity. 

Still in the ball-room the white cloud of lace 
continued to whirl about like the wings of a great 
white bird that hovers in the air, now higher, now 
lower, until it is lost in space. The women began 
to gossip. It was not proper to dance like that. 
Madame Parent must think she was at a ball in 
her native village. It was indecent. 

Oh, I can go no further,” gasped Rose. Oh, 
my head ! I am dying.” 

The waltz was over. George led Rose to a sofa, 
where she was at once taken with an attack of 
vertigo. She put her hands before her eyes in 
a last spasm of ecstasy, and, half wild with excite- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


71 


ment, half fainting with fatigue, she seemed to 
lose herself in a blissful dream. 

‘‘ Does not Monsieur Parent dance ?'’ said the 
sub-prefecPs wife to Rose when she had recovered 
herself. 

“ Never.” 

Yotir husband, Madame Loudois, on the con- 
trary, is a delightful waltzer.” 

“Yes,” said Madame de Carreuse, “George is 
one of those rare people whom one finds nowa- 
days -who still know how to dance.” 

“ Your wife has been dancing for you and her- 
self both,” the sub-prefect said laughingly to Pa- 
rent in the card-room. 

“ I have never danced,” said Prosper. “ It makes 
me dizzy, just as the whirligigs used to when I 
was a child. As for George, it is different. He 
still thinks himself a young man.” 

“A good fellow, George.” 

“ Splendid. We all love him. Ever since his 
marriage, too, he has been more content to stay at 
Saint Cyprian. I believe his father will soon give 
up the mayoralty to him.” 

By this time the guests were departing. The 
carriages which waited in front of the park gates 
were swallowing one handsome toilette after an- 
other. Colonel Benjamin, Moulineau, and some 
of the gayer bachelors adjourned to a neighboring 
well-known caf6, where at three o'clock in the 
morning Pouter became so drunk that he swal- 


72 


Thy Name is Woman. 


lowed a glassful of champagne out of his dancing- 
pump on a wager. After this the inebriated party 
amused themselves until morning in talking 
scandal about the Saint Cyprian ladies. They 
were especially severe on Rose and her half-hour's 
dance with George. She had, they averred, 
fainted in the latter’s arms. As for Loudois, he 
was a duffer to forsake his pretty little wife for 
such a woman as Big-Purse.” 

“ How silent you are, George !” said his wife 
that night after the ball. 

“ I ?” said he, absently. 

“ You are not ill ?” 

" No.” 

“You are pale. Shall I make you some tea?” 

“ No, Marie, I am all right.” 

“ These official receptions are disagreeable. Our 
small parties are nicer, aren’t they?” 

. ‘AVe must get used to it as it comes, Marie.” 

“ Do you love me very much, George dear?” 

“ What a question ! I love you with my whole 
heart, dear little wife.” 

“ Kiss me. You haven’t kissed me since we got 
home. How cold your hands are, Georgie, and 
your heart beats — oh !” 

“ It is nothing.” 

“ And then you look so funny.” 

“ I am tired and sleepy, little one.” 

“ O George, if you should deceive me !” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


73 


Hush, you crazy child/’ 

The next morning Rose had a severe head- 
ache. She shut her door against every one, and 
when Prosper came to inquire about her health 
she asked him not to stay long. She must be 
alone — all alone. The least thing irritated her. 
She drove the cook’s little girl out because she 
had but one eye. One-eyed people horrified her. 

Little Andr^e was placed upon her mother’s 
bed. The child contemplated her fona long time, 
and then said in her baby way she thought she 
had never seen mamma so pale or so pretty 
before. 

But Rose sent her away with the rest. 

The child was right, however. Rose was won- 
derfully beautiful. The headache had animated 
her features. Her eyes shone with a strange 
brilliancy. She possessed all the graces of a love- 
sick woman. Her careless poses were graceful, 
her glance filled with seductive and mysterious 
promises. Her beautiful black hair shone in its 
jetty lustre like a mass of polished ebony. 
Through her half-opened embroidered chemise her 
white and pink-tipped breasts seemed to palpi- 
tate. Her face was pale. The little blue veins 
stood out on her white temples, and the slender 
hands, like delicate pi-ncers made of steel and of 
love, grasped each other so fiercely that the thin 
fingers seemed like to snap. She lay upon her 


74 


Thy Name is Woman, 


back with the bedclothes drawn well about her, 
expressing, rather than concealing, the delicate 
mould of her body, and resigned herself to an ecs- 
tatic vision. 

She dreamed of last night and of how she had 
conquered the admiration of all ; of the sweet 
words George had whispered to her ; of the thrill, 
never before experienced, that had run through 
all her person when she had felt herself whirling 
with him in the waltz. She remembered the 
evening at her own house when she had had the 
firmness to remain cold to him. She it was who, 
down there in the garden, had told him to get 
married, had boasted to him of the joys of a 
united and legitimate love. And now, all trem- 
bling as she was with remembrances that held her 
in their amorous embrace, she recollected that 
after the waltz, when she had returned to her seat 
blinded by the dazzling lights of the chandelier, 
a whisper of intoxicating delights to which she 
had been so far a stranger had crept in upon her 
consciousness, and for the first time in her life she 
felt that some part of her nature remained unsat- 
isfied. Tormented by a desire that no other than 
he could quench, she found herself filled with a 
rage of jealousy against the young wife, who, 
passionless and cold as she was, was unworthy to 
share a delight which she could not understand. 

After that day of feverish unrest, she seemed 
to hear mysterious songs through the night- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


75 


watches. It was as if a whirlwind of harmony 
was sweeping through her brain. She had seen 
nothing, known nothing of a life of gallantry; her 
delirious imagination made her guess the truth. 
In the canopy above her bed she saw women 
lying in graceful postures. Young men, deli- 
cately fashioned, approached their goddesses with 
cups overflowing with intoxicating perfumes. 
The women let fall their robes and took down 
their raven or sun-gold hair. Then their bodies 
were mingled in a heavenly embrace. 

In her dream she delighted to seek out some 
one among the throng of lovers who might resera- 
ble her George. She found him in the handsom- 
est of the men, the one whom the naked women 
sought after most eagerly, and who by his magic 
glances seemed to hold them in a sublime ecstasy. 

All of a sudden her imagination stopped soar- 
ing. The realities of life claimed her. She com- 
pared her awkward husband with the ideal of her 
dream. Prosper wished to be gallant ; he was 
only grotesque. She saw in him only an animal, 
eager for gratification, but without spirituality 
and ignorant of the divinity of love. 

Later in the night she grew calmer. In the 
morning her maid Margaret came to dress her, 
bringing the news that the Loudois family had 
gone into the country. This pleased her. After 
breakfast she went into the garden. Seated un- 
der the shade of a chestnut tree, dressed simply 


76 Thy Name is Woman. 

in her blue striped morning wrapper, with her 
head leaning back against the trellis of the sum- 
mer-house, she amused herself with the antics of 
a couple of turtle-doves that were cooing their 
love-song in a cage above her. This cage, in the 
wires of which were placed some pomegranate 
twigs for the birds to peck at, was one of Rose’s 
great pleasures. She cared for it herself, bringing 
water and gravel for the birds’ use. And child 
that she was, she loved to let them peck at her 
fingers, laughing long and loud the while, so that 
the birds could see her white teeth gleaming be- 
tween her blood-red lips. 

Then when, under the warmth of the summer 
sun, the coo of the male dove became more press- 
ing, when he ‘chased his mate, and she at first 
ran away from him, then allowed herself to be 
taken ; and when, after their love-kisses were 
over, the male, exhausted by his victory, re- 
mained upon the perch clapping his wings, with 
closed eyes, she stood by the side of the cage, 
blessing nature, happy to be alive, and it seemed 
to her as if the very violets lent their odor to ex- 
cite the turtle-doves. 

But her own satisfaction was factitious. She 
felt herself suffocating amid the throng of amor- 
ous dreams that filled her sick soul. She asked 
herself whether she dare hope. 

When she had returned to her chamber she 
was seized with a nervous trembling. She began 


Thy Name is Woman, 


77 


to cry out loud. Margaret sought to soothe her 
with kind words, but in vain. The attack be- 
came so violent that her sobs were audible even 
in the office. Prosper rushed up to see what was 
the matter. Before that haggard face, that writh- 
ing mouth, that body which tossed so violently 
upon the bed, threatening every moment to 
bruise itself against the sharp corners of the wood, 
the husband wrung his hands in affright. 

“ I beseech you, Rose, don’t act so.” 

Leave me alone — alone.” 

When he had gone, she gradually quieted down. 
By and by she felt herself growing stronger. 

“ Oh, I will remain a pure woman !” she moaned 
through her set teeth. “ I will — I will. Oh, my 
poor head, my poor head !” 


78 


Thy Name is Woman. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

Theatrical entertainments were quite rare 
at Saint Cyprian. The old city-hall, which was 
the abiding-place of such travelling companies 
as happened that way, was sometimes closed for 
months together. But soon after the sub-prefect’s 
ball it was announced that one of the best com- 
binations in the country would shortly give a 
series of representations there. The manager of 
the troupe — Couty by name — was a native of the 
town. He was on his way from the south of 
France, where he had not been very successful, 
and the idea occurred to him to play an engage- 
ment in his old home. His company was a good 
one, though small. It consisted of himself, his 
two daughters Clara and Naomie, blonde and 
slender Gretchens, two old friends of the mana- 
ger, three young men and two very pretty girls, 
besides Uncle Julian, the “ first old man.” 

Couty filled at the same time the responsible 
positions of manager of his company and leading 
man. He expected to get some amateurs at 
Saint Cyprian to help him fill the parts without 
compensation. There was indeed a society of 
amateurs in the town who not only acted on the 


Thy Name is Woman. 


79 


dramatic stage, but occasionally also made a dash 
at a comic or even a grand opera. George Lou- 
dois, who was a very good elocutionist, was the 
leader of this society. He had already on sev- 
eral occasions demonstrated that he possessed a 
more than average histrionic talent. The ama- 
teurs had been for some time anxious for a chance 
to show themselves upon the professional stage, 
and now they received Couty’s proposition with 
acclamations. 

After they had played several comedies, in 
which the young Saint-Cyprianites acquitted 
themselves with more or less distinction, the 
tragedy of Hernani was put on. Couty was to 
play Ruy Gomez, his daughter Clara, Donna 
Sol, and George Loudois, Hernani. The other 
roles were distributed equally between the profes- 
sionals and the amateurs. The representation 
was given for the benefit of the poor. 

It was a rainy night, but the little theatre, 
which was brilliantly lighted, was crowded to the 
doors. Madame de Carreuse, the Marquis of 
Jamaye, Monsieur and Madame Lugeol, the pre- 
fect and his wife, Victor Moulineau, Colonel Ben- 
jamin, and many others among the social digni- 
taries of the little town occupied the boxes. The 
ladies Loudois, accompanied by Rose and .Pros- 
per, entered their loge just as the curtain was ris- 
ing. 

Rose paid little attention to the opening 


80 


Thy Name is Woman, 


3cene. But when Hernani appeared her interest 
was at once chained. George was greeted by the 
enthusiastic applause of the audience. He was 
dressed as an Arragonese mountaineer, with a 
leathern jerkin, a sword, dagger, and horn at the 
belt ; over these was thrown a heavy mantle 
which the young man wore with the grace of a 
born prince. 

He was very pale, and his langourous and 
amorous glances were often cast in the direction 
of the box in which his wife sat. Rose, knowing 
herself to be the one loved and desired by the 
handsome actor, felt her heart beat exultantly as 
she watched his young wife, who sat next to her, 
out of the corner of her eye. Marie, delighted 
at George’s appearance, confided her previous 
fears to her companion. 

I was so afraid he might have stage-fright,” 
she said. 

Tears of pride came into father Loudois’ eyes, 
while on the other side of the theatre Pouter 
Moulineau applauded frantically. 

Bravo ! very good !” exclaimed the enthusi- 
astic band-master. He was made for the busi- 
ness. He is the only man in it. Bravo ! bravo !” 

Rose never took her eyes off Hernani. She 
had read the drama a hundred times. But she 
had never before experienced so peculiar an emo- 
tion over it. She followed the play eagerly, step 
by step, until the point where Donna Sol discov- 


Thy Name is Woman, 8 1 

ers her lover in the garden beside the king, when 
she throws her arms about him, whilst Hernani 
gazes proudly and unflinchingly at Don Carlos. 

‘‘ Good ! Good, George exclaimed Madame 
Loudois the elder at this point. 

Damn that fellow George !” muttered Parent. 

One would think he had graduated from the 
Conservatory. What fire he puts into it ! Did 
you see. Rose, how he kept glancing in here? 
The real Donna Sol is you, Madame Marie.” 

‘^Hush!” said Rose, peevishly. They are 
beginning again.” 

At the end of this act Rose felt as if trans- 
ported into another, more beautiful world. 
George’s voice sang in her heart. She felt with 
Donna Sol that a life of storm and danger was 
preferable to this monotonous existence which 
was killing her. Oh, how wrong she had been to 
send George away from her! It was to her, to 
her alone, that he played his part. Donna Sol’s 
words of love were inscribed in her own great 
eyes; he might read them there if he chose. She 
imagined herself in some far-off land enacting 
with him the love-scene in which Hernani begs 
Donna Sol to run away with him. Tears of ex- 
quisite delight rose to her eyes. It seemed to 
her, as she looked upon the two standing there 
gazing with ecstasy into each other’s very souls; 
blind to all the world beside, that she herself was 
the woman whom that beautiful cavalier held in 


82 Thy Name is Woman, 

his arms. Ah, there never had been a man so 
splendid, so noble, so wholly lovable as George. 
An inward shiver passed through her being. Out- 
wardly she remained as calm and composed by 
Prosper’s side as if that worthy fellow had been 
Duke Gomez himself. Prosper leaned toward 
her presently and said, 

“ Is it not fine ?*' 

‘‘Yes/’ 

“Are you suffering, dear? You look pale.** 

“ It is the heat. Let us go out for a moment. 
It is stifling in here.** 

She fell upon the divan in the little room back 
of the box. The Loudois ladies hastened to her, 
while the theatre rang with the applause that 
greeted the end of the act and the fall of the cur- 
tain. 

“ I feel better now,’* she said. 

She prayed the ladies to resume their places. 
They begged her to come back into the box, but 
she excused herself, saying that the heat of the 
theatre sickened her. Prosper would not leave 
her side. He sat holding her hand and caressing 
it from time to time. 

“ Please don’t. Prosper.” 

“Will you go home now. Rose?” 

“Not yet.” 

Still she would not remain until the end. She 
knew that George would come into the box in 
costume after the last act. He would be com- 


Thy Name is Woman, 


83 


pelled to be a little affectionate with his wife. 
This she could not bear to see. She made a 
sign to Prosper, who watched her anxiously. 

Let us go,’' she whispered. 

Prosper placed her sumptuous white satin 
opera-cloak upon her shoulders, and together 
they descended to their carriage. Arrived at 
home, they found Margaret asleep in front of the 
fireplace. Prosper kissed his wife good-night. 
As the kiss, impregnated with the fetid atmos- 
phere of the theatre, fell upon her mouth, it felt 
to her irritated sense coarse, slobbery, nauseat- 
ing. 

“ I can never love that man,” she said to her- 
self as she fell upon' her bed overcome with fa- 
tigue and disgust. Parent went away, and Rose 
heaved a great sigh of relief on finding herself 
alone in her room. 

It was the evening next after the Hernani ” 
representation. Parent had gone with his old 
clerk to take down the last will and testament of a 
sick man at Mersay. Little Andr^e was sleeping 
in her crib ; the servants had long since gone 
to bed. Rose, who was feeling better, went 
out to enjoy a quiet promenade beside the hazel- 
hedge in the garden, when she was startled by 
the sudden appearance of a shadow on the other 
side of the wall, and her ears were saluted with, 
Madame Rose, Madame Rose !” 


84 


Thy Name is Wojnan. 


She held her peace. 

Then the voice called louder, 

Madame Rose !' 

She tried to speak, she tried to fly, but she 
could not. She remained rooted to the spot. 
In a moment George was by her side. He seized 
her hands and pressed them passionately to his 
lips. She tried to struggle against his influence, 
but there was no heart in her efforts. She 
moaned despairingly, 

“ Unhappy man 

‘‘ Oh no. I am happy — blessed/’ 

“For the love of God, sir, leave me. If you 
love me, do not work the ruin of my family. 
Think, I am a mother — ” ' 

“ I have fought my mad passion as long as I 
can. Rose, it was here you counselled me to 
marry. It would cure me, you said. I have 
^yaited. I have struggled to do my duty. But 
the madness seizes me again and again. It is a 
daily conflict. I can struggle no longer. Marie 
is beautiful, you say, sweet, lovable. But it is 
you. Rose, you alone whom I love, whom I de- 
sire. When I talk with her, it is to you I speak. 
Her kisses, her tender speeches, make me sick. 
It is you, only you, whom 1 want, whom I will 
have.’ 

Half unconscious. Rose listened to these broken 
sentences as she lay smothered beneath the storm 
of caresses, hot with a passion that had passed all 


Thy Name is Woman, 


85 


bounds, that fell upon her lips, her eyes, her hair, 
her throat. She could feel her lover’s breast 
heave where she lay passive upon it. Slowly 
she felt herself drawn to a seat in the summer- 
house half hidden beneath the heavy foliage. 

My family are at the Bastides. I ran away 
on a false pretext. I said that I must go to 
Paris on business. I have been for two hours 
walking up and down here like a madman. I 
believed that God would have mercy on me. O 
Rose, come, come. We are alone. No one can 
see. Come, my worshipped one.” 

The young woman lay for a moment crushed 
upon her lover’s bosom. Then with writhing 
hands and sobs of joy, while her hot flesh thrilled 
under his touch and her lips were wet with his 
kisses, she gave herself up to him utterly. 

The white moon looked down upon her pale, 
transfigured face, upon the small head that 
trembled against the clematis vine.s, and upon the 
delicate body shaken with its first long shiver of 
ecstasy. 

The next day about noon Prosper returned 
from Mersay. He found his wife at work in the 
garden. She was dressed in gray, with a black 
apron gracefully tied about her waist, and a big 
straw hat on her head. With a little trowel in her 
hand she was going up and down the paths, 
digging and pruning amid the rose-bushes. She 
presented her forehead to the marital salute. 


86 


Thy Nmne is Woman. 


How happy he was, the worthy fellow, he who 
had been forced the day before to tear himself 
away from his young wife, who was in such misery 
from her headache ! 

Rose laughingly showed her husband her hands 
filled with loam. Andr^e, who was playing in the 
hallway, ran down to meet her father. Prosper 
was radiant. He had had a hard night at the 
sick man's bedside, but he had conscientiously 
done his duty, and now he felt recompensed by 
the happiness he experienced in again being in 
the bosom of his family. 

Business is looking up, Rose," he exclaimed. 
‘‘ Faure promises me a lot of sales. We shall 
soon be free from our small debts, dear, and we 
^ won't have to be begging the old folks." 

On seeing him so pleased she felt a twinge of 
compunction. 

“You are warm, dear. Don't stay out-doors. 
Come in the house." 

Rose took his arm, little Andr6e seized his coat- 
tail, and in this fashion the happy fellow permitted 
himself to be drawn in-doors. 

After that Rose and George had frequent meet- 
ings, to which they called each other by secret 
signal. They exchanged photographs. She hid 
his in her bureau drawer between the folds of her 
underclothing. It was a portrait of him while in 
college. She thought him handsomer as he was 
now and more manly, but still she preferred the 


Thy Name is Woman, 


87 


other photograph, because thus pictured he ap- 
peared to have belonged to her longer. When 
she was alone she would take out her lover’s por- 
trait and devour it with kisses. He was her 
George, her own George, her beloved. 

One day while they were awaiting the blessed 
hour of their meeting, after the Loudois ladies 
should have gone on a visit to Mersay, Rose had 
an inspiration. She warned George that she would 
meait him this time in his own chamber. And she 
did. In the full light of day, while Prosper 
was hard at work in his office, she climbed over 
the garden-wall and crept into the side door of 
the mayor’s house. George was awaiting her at 
the head of the stairs. 

“ Father is in his room,” he said ; he can’t 
hear anything.” 

She glanced hurriedly out of the hall-window to 
see if any one was coming, then removed her slip- 
pers, and with them in her hand flew lightly up to 
him. He received her in his arms. 

Oh,” she whispered, ‘‘ how my heart beats !” 

My darling little wife !” 

He drew her into his chamber, Marie’s bridal 
chamber, all hung in light blue. She fell upon a 
sofa and began to stare about her. 

This is where you two pretend to make love, 
eh ?” she said presently. 

‘‘ Oh, never mind about her.” 

Here is her engagement-ring,” Rose con- 


88 


Thy Name is Woman, 


tinned, pouring into her hand the contents of a 
crystal box which she took from the dressing- 
table. Poor little Marie — with her English air, 
and her slim figure, and her baby eyes. Truly, my 
dear, she is not the woman of your dreams. She 
isn’t the kind that can turn a man’s head, is she ?” 

Rose wreathed her arms about her lover’s neck, 
anddooked into his eyes with a saucy smile. 

‘‘ I want to stay here with you some night. I 
am yours, my Hernani, am I not? I belong to 
you wholly. I watch your window from morning 
till night.” 

“ My angel !” 

She stayed with him a little while longer. Then 
she returned to her own garden, and during the 
rest of the day amused herself with her little 
daughter. They played ‘‘ little mamma ” together, 
each taking the part of mother in turn. They 
used nicknames : the mother was mamma Gron- 
din the daughter was Miss Lily.” 

Now, Andree, it’s your turn.” 

Then the child, imitating her mother, shook her 
little finger gravely, saying, 

Miss Lily, you have been naughty. You have 
eaten a pot of jam that I was keeping for dinner. 
I shall have to punish you,” 

Pardon, mamma,” whimpered Rose ; pardon, 
mamma Grondin.” 

'' Tut, tut, tut ! You always cry that.” 

‘‘ Mamma, please, little mamma.” 


Thy Nmne is Woman. 89 

Very well, then ; this time I forgive you. Come 
and kiss me, naughty Lily.'’ 

Then Rose, making herself as small as possible, 
with puckered lips and outstretched arms would 
run to her little daughter, like one of those rosy- 
cheeked dolls that are exposed for sale in the shop- 
windows about holiday-time. Falling into 
Andree's arms, she would devour her with baby 
kisses, murmuring : 

‘‘ Fs mamma’s Lily. Pretty mamma. I loves 
mamma wiz all my heart, mamma Grondin.” 

The game would end in screams of laughter 
from both. Prosper followed these scenes with 
a lively interest. They amused him much. 
Sometimes Clapier would look on and as he 
thought of the disorder in the Parent household, 
the old man would murmur hoarsely. 

As much of a child as her baby. What a 
woman ! Good Lord, what a woman !” 

Frequently in the summer evenings the Loudois 
and Parent families, with some other neighbors, 
would gather in front of the Parent house. George 
would play with Andr^e, taking her on his back 
and running after his dog Medor, who would frisk 
along in front of them, barking, wagging his tail, 
and in other ways showing his appreciation of the 
game they were having. 

Come quick, Geordie,” the child would cry. 
She always called him Geordie. 


90 


Thy Name is Woma^i. 


Sometimes Rose would leave the group of ladies 
and join them, crying, 

Monsieur Loudois, you will fall. Andr^e, my 
child, take care.” 

Rose and her lover would exchange a few word 
in a low tone, the meaning of which the little gii i 
was not able to grasp. 

Lift me, Geordie. You don’t run fast enough, 
Geordie. Get along, Geordie dear.” 

‘‘Isn’t our Andr^e sweet?” Rose would mur- 
mur. 

“ It’s a shame she isn’t oursT 

“ Some day, perhaps, we — Hush !” 

“Geordie, you’ll buy me an umbrella like mam- 
ma’s, won’t you ?’’ 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ All embroidered, too ?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“Good Geordie. Now carry me away. Carry 
me away, I tell you.” 

Rose rejoined the ladies. “ Vintage-time will 
soon be here,” she said ; “ there will be a splendid 
harvest. My husband authorizes me to invite you 
all to Jarry’s Cross for a vintage-party. Eh, 
Prosper ?” 

“ Why, of course, dear, if that will please you.” 

“ Very well. It is understood, is it, ladies and 
gentlemen ?” 

“ When shall it be ?” said Madame Loudois. 

“ I will tell you to-morrow. We will make pan- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


91 


cakes. No formality, you understand. Just a 
sort of go-as-you-please party. What do you 
say?” 

All present accepted the invitation. 

''Vary good. Monsieur Moulineau will look 
after the weather, and Monsieur Loudois will be 
master of ceremonies.” 


92 


Thy Name is Woman, 


CHAPTER IX. 

The next day Rose went to Jarry’s Cross. She 
found her father at work fixing up his casks for 
the vintage. The great barn-doors were wide 
open, and she could see the old gentleman from 
the farm-house stoop busily engaged in tighten- 
ing the hoops around a barrel. He had an old 
woollen nightcap on his head, and a leathern apron 
around his loins. As his sight was somewhat im- 
paired by old age, he wore a big pair of silver 
spectacles. Every time he struck with his mallet, 
his glasses would jump on his nose, and at every 
third or fourth stroke the old fellow was obliged 
to stop and adjust them. Rose stole quietly into 
the barn and, without being perceived by him, 
stood watching her father busy over his task. A 
curious feeling of admiration for this old man^ 
who could not divest himself of his life-habit of 
labor, stole over her. She watched him for some 
time with a strange smile on her face. Then she 
said briskly, 

'' Good-morning, father.'' 

‘'Ah, little one," said Francis, turning at the 
sound of her voice," “ how are you?" 

“ Very well, pa. And do you always work 
hard like that ?" 


Thy Name is Woman, 


93 


Oh, I’ve got to,'’ the old man said, as he kissed 
her fondly. ‘‘I get tired if I don’t work. How’s 
the son-in law, and Andr^e?” 

“ Thanks, I left them all well.” 

Berias spoke with an unusual degree of gentle- 
ness, because for several months there had been 
no question of borrowing between them. He 
could not get back the money he had already 
lent, but at least his last refusal had done some 
good. No more demands were made on his purse. 
Probably things were going better with the young 
people and they were becoming more prudent. 
At all events, they were paying their own expenses, 
and that was all Francis asked of them. 

‘‘ You are dressed like a princess,” was the old 
man’s next remark. 

‘‘Oh, only cretonne at thirty cents a yard.’* 
Then as if to change a disagreeable subject she 
pointed to the cask upon which he was at work, 
saying, “ It’s a good vintage year, isn’t it, pa?” 

“ Aha! and so you are becoming interested in 
the harvests again, eh? I feared you had out- 
grown all that.” 

“ Oh, not at all. And by the same token. I’ve 
come to ask permission to bring some friends here 
next Monday.” 

“Some friends?” 

“Yes. They want to try their hands at picking 
grapes.” 

Janette entered the barn at this moment. 


94 T'hy Name is Woman. 

'‘And, mamma, we want to make pancakes, 
too.” 

"Pancakes? Well, but think, my daughter, 
the kitchen will be full of the workmen whom we 
employ at the vintage.” 

" Then we can make them in my room.” 

" The fireplace isn't big enough, is it ?” 

"That makes no difference. We won’t burn so 
much wood.” 

"Very well. Have your own way. We shall 
have some funny vintagers in your party. I’ll be 
bound.” 

" Well, I should say so.” 

Accordingly, on the following Monday, Prosper 
and Rose with a dozen or so of them friends, most 
of whose names have already been mentioned in 
these pages, drove out to the White House and 
spent the afternoon in the vineyard. Marie, 
Rose, and Madame Lugeol looked especially pretty 
and picturesque as they picked the big bunches 
of grapes from the vines. They wore piquant 
little caps upon their heads, and had the skirts of 
their dresses coquettishly pinned back over their 
hips to avoid soiling them with the grape-juice^ 
Pouter Moulineau and Colonel Benjamin amused 
themselves most of the afternoon by lying on 
their backs under the thick shade of the vines, 
smoking cigars and looking out for stray glimpses 
of supple ankles as the pretty women enthusias- 
tically pursued the sport of filling the big baskets 


Thy Name is Woman. 


95 


with the luscious fruit. The three Graces/’ as 
they were at once dubbed by Moulineau, were a 
source of great admiration also to the hired vin- 
tagers, male and female, who spent much valuable 
time staring at them and their performances, to 
the no small loss of Francis, who had to pay 
for it. 

When they had sufficiently amused themselves 
in the vineyard, they adjourned to the house 
and to Rose’s room. Here the ladies, amid much 
laughter and mutual rallyings, essayed to make 
edible pancakes. These attempts were equally 
picturesque and futile. The pretty cooks were 
unable to accomplish that dexterous “ flip-flap ” 
which is necessary to the successful crisping of the 
delicacy on both sides. Pancake after pancake 
fell spluttering on the coals, and Andr^e with con- 
sternation saw the batter in the bowl gradually 
disappearing while she still remained pancakeless. 
Fortunately at this moment her grandmother en- 
tered the room and assumed the direction of 
affairs. In a quarter of an hour heaping platters 
of the delicately browned beauties, well buttered 
and sugared, were placed upon the table and the 
party made a merry if not a very hearty meal. 

After this they took their departure. Places in 
the carriages were taken at haphazard ; neverthe- 
less Rose and George found themselves alone to- 
gether in the same vehicle. As the procession dis- 
appeared down the road into the twilight. Rose 


96 


Thy Name is Woman. 


quietly slipped her hand into that of her lover. 
Both were silent. There was no need of speech be- 
tween them. They could converse with sufficient 
intelligence through the pores of their skin. Occa- 
sionally a call would come to them from another 
carriage. To this they would respond and then 
relapse at once into a delicious, eloquent si- 
lence. Rose’s head fell languorously upon the 
back of the carriage-seat as she savored the even- 
ing breeze laden with sweet earthy smells. The 
gentle motion of the carriage as it rolled slowly 
along, the love-thoughts which rose from her heart 
but which her dumb lips dared not pronounce, the 
immeasurable silence which enwrapped them, the 
poplar trees drifting along by the roadside like 
dim ghosts, all combined to sink her in a dreamy 
intoxication. Her body sank more and more 
yieldingly against that of her lover. She was 
blissfully happy. It was so sweet to be so loved, 
to feel herself so wholly his ! 

Still, notwithstanding Rose was in this state of 
mind, she was at this time particularly gentle to her 
husband and thoughtful for his comforts. When 
he came back from a journey he would find his 
flannel night-vest and his night-shirt ready and 
warm for him by the kitchen fire. And she would 
come to his room bringing the kettle for his tea, 
saying sweetly as she entered, 

‘‘ Well, was the vest warm enough ? I picked 


Thy Name is Woman, 


97 


out the softest mght-gown I could find, to make 
you as comfortable as possible/* 

Then the next morning when he came to the 
breakfast-table and found his wife preparing some 
little dish on which she knew he doted, he would 
look down upon her bent head with such a feeling 
of devout gratitude stirring in his heart as brought 
the tears to his eyes. 

“ What a change is here !*’ he thought, “ what 
undreamed-of happiness ! How good God is !” 

And about Rose’s prodigality, he observed that 
that had altered also. After calculating his ex- 
penses for a quarter, he found that his wife had 
become quite economical indeed. How cheaply 
she bought things, too ! Although she had never 
been to Paris, she was as familiar with city prices 
as the merchants themselves. They could not 
cheat her. All this talk of his friends about her 
extravagance was nonsense. She was not ex- 
travagant. She was economical, even. Cornet 
was an ass; Faure was an ass; they were all 
asses. Rose was queen of St. Cyprian, as she had 
been queen of Jarry’s Cross. These people did 
not understand her because they did not love her. 

The truth is that George Loudois had lavished 
enormous sums upon his mistress. At first the 
young woman felt herself revolted at this. 

Your proposal is shameful,” she declared. “ I 
don’t want you to keep me. I give myself to 


98 Thy Name is Woman, 

you freely, with my whole heart, because I love 
you.” 

“ Don’t be foolish,” he urged. You don’t un- 
derstand. For whose sake do you love to make 
yourself beautiful, my darling?” 

“ For yours, of course ; you know that.” 

Precisely. Then you must not ruin your hus> 
band. If fate had been kind, you would have 
been my wife. It is my duty to provide for your 
happiness. Perhaps, Rose, some day — ” 

‘"Oh!” 

Why, don’t you wish it ?” 

Don't speak to me like that,” she exclaimed 
fiercely, with a sudden strange smile. ‘‘ You put 
mad thoughts into my brain.” 

I was wrong. We must not desire any one's 
death. We are compelled to love in secret, since 
we may not love in the pure light of day. But, 
for God’s sake, don’t refuse to let me provide 
for you. It is one of my greatest pleasures. You 
need not fear for my purse. I am very rich.” 

“ And your wife ?” 

She has a fortune of her own. My wealth is 
my own. And all that I have is yours, my beau- 
tiful one.” 

Rose thereupon wrote to Paris for such clothes 
as she desired. About the price of these she lied 
to her husband. Still the expenses of the Parent 
household were considerably in excess of the office 
income. But the world did not know this. The 


Thy Name is Woman. 


99 


notary had begun a system of false book-keeping 
to conceal his impending ruin. 

It was difhcult to collect what was due him, he 
said. Many thousand francs were owed to him 
which would come in some day. The old clerk, 
Clapier, who was book-keeper also, though he 
kept his mouth shut so far as the public was 
concerned, was always remonstrating with his 
employer. 

“ I tell you, sir, you are doing wrong. I ought 
not to speak to you so, perhaps. But I can’t bear 
to see you ruin yourself.” 

Please, my dear fellow, stop right there. You 
are mistaken. That’s enough.” 

I am not mistaken, I tell you. Look at the 
books.” 

Don’t they show that our expenses are de- 
creasing?” 

The old man shrugged his shoulders in despair. 

Very well, sir,” was all he said. I have 
warned you, remember.” 

Then he would resume his work, not daring, in 
the presence of his master’s frown, to speak of all 
that he had it in his mind to say. He knew that 
scandal had already coupled the names of Rose 
and George. But he dared not destroy the peace 
of a good man by exposing to his eyes the ter- 
rible truth. Besides, the notary would not be- 
lieve him, and he would be discharged for his 
pains. Sometimes he would appeal to Monsieur 


100 


Thy Name is Woman. 


Cornet, who would straightway undertake to 
convince him that his suspicions were not well 
founded. 

How's business the judge would say^ enter- 
ing the notary's office. 

First-rate. Faure promises me a fine sale 
next week. By the by, that money that I owe 
you — now — er — can you — ?” 

‘‘Nonsense, my dear Prosper! Don't speak of 
it. We don't want it. We live so quietly down 
in the country, we don't need it." 

“ But—" 

“ Are you going to put on airs with me ?" . 

The worthy man did not even call for the in- 
terest on the amount originally due him from 
Parent. Besides which the latter had more than 
once found himself obliged to squeeze his old 
friend's purse for living expenses. 

“Oh, what of it?" the judge would say to his 
wife. “ I love the boy. He is like the apple of 
my eye. He has a heart of gold. I brought him 
up.’' 

“ Might as well do it first as last," his wife would 
continue, approvingly. “ He'll get it all some 
day anyway Besides, Prosper and Rose love us 
dearly. Lately, when I had sciatica, Rose passed 
two whole nights watching over me. " 

“ She's a good woman. All this gossip is hate- 
ful," 


Thy Name is Woman, loi 

You don’t believe a word of it, do you, hus- 
band ?” 

‘‘ No. What ! George, Prosper’s intimate friend ? 
childhood friends? brothers, more like?” 

“ The St. Cyprian people don’t know how to 
do anything but talk scandal. I had a pitched 
battle about it with Madame de Mersay.” 

Does she believe it?” 

‘‘ I think so,” 

*^Very good. Then I say with Madame de 
Carreuse that virtuous women never believe in 
the peccadilloes of others.” 

The Loudois family were obliged to spend 
much time at the Bastides on account of the con- 
tinued ill-health of Marie’s aunt. The young 
woman herself had put aside the suspicions that 
were at one time beginning to cloud her mind 
when she saw Rose so fond of and attentive to 
her husband. 

George, dear,” she said, with her arm about 
her husband’s neck, “ I am so sorry I bothered 
you with my foolish questions the other day. 
Will you forgive me?” 

When the family had gone, George and Rose 
were left to pursue their liaison with perfect im- 
punity. They generally met by the garden-hedge. 
The chirping of the birds in the branches, the 
rustling of the wind through the leaves, now just 
beginning to be touched by Autumn’s brush, no 
longer caused them to start in guilty fear. They 


102 


Thy Name is Woman. 


argued that they had a perfect right to belong to 
one another. In their fool’s paradise, they in- 
vented excuses for their conduct. They formed 
a thousand projects for their future happiness, and 
dreamed of a life together in ^fome far-off land of 
love and mystery. In such moments of exalta- 
tion Rose would suddenly jump to her feet as if 
moved by a spring. Then she would walk slowly 
up and down for a moment, and stopping before 
her lover, still as a graven image, she would say, 
with a labored slowness that betrayed the tumult 
in her mind. 

Oh, if I had not my daughter !” 

She would smile maliciously when her eyes 
rested upon the Loudois house, once so sad and 
sombre, which had taken on a festive air ever 
since the marriage. The young cousin had come 
into it as a bride, producing in it the effect of a 
swallow flying into a school-room window on a 
fine spring morning. 

Marie was eighteen years old and as laughter- 
loving as a school-girl. Far from having tainted 
the native sweetness of her character, her lonely 
life at the Bastides seemed to have engendered in 
her a desire not to appear sad. She would take 
her husband with her into the woods where she 
had so often wandered as a girl. She would 
make him climb the hills where she had lain book 
in hand ; and often while the birds sang love- 
songs to each other in the tops of the poplars and 


Thy Name is Woman, 103 

the larches, they, with hearts filled with the de- 
light of being young, w^ould penetrate into some 
pretty glade carpeted with velvety moss, through 
which ran a purling brook, on whose banks the 
trees were full of bird’s nests. Each shadow had 
a memory for her. It was down there by the big 
oak trees that she had first seen George when he 
paid his first love-making visit to dear Aunt Va- 
rennes in the country. How handsome he had 
looked ! Something had told her that it was for 
her he came, and at once she had felt herself his 
very own. 

Poor little foolish thing, how she had suffered 
the night George made love to Rose at the ball ! 
She had stayed awake all night, a prey to the 
most cruel fears. Happily George had only to 
say one word and to give her one kiss ; it was 
enough to exorcise the horrible dread at once. 
Doubtless she thought she was not used to the 
ways of the world ; she ought not to suspect a 
Christian woman who was a good and loving 
mother. 

At the Bastides, when the sounds of the little 
villa were hushed in the night so that one could 
hear the washing of the waves on the near river 
and the soughing of the breeze through the trees 
on the highway, the two young people loved to 
talk over their bridal trip to Italy. They saw 
themselves again in Venice, gliding along in their 
gondola, over the shining waters ; or at Naples, 


104 


Thy Name is Woman. 


at the doorway of some splendid cathedral crowded 
with ragged lazzaroni ; or at Rome, the holy city, 
where their honeymoon had reached its zenith- 
point. If George wished, they might always stay 
at the Bastides ; her aunt would be so glad to have 
them come and live with her. There, surrounded 
by the simple life of the country, they could love 
each other more securely amid the fields enam- 
elled in green and gold, and amid the shady 
depths of the wild wood. 

These had been the young girl’s dreams. Rose 
was quite aware of them, and she did not forgive 
them. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


105 


CHAPTER X. 

You are not very cheerful,” said George’s 
mother to Marie one day. 

I haven’t been feeling very well lately.” 

“ Ha, ha !” laughed father Loudois, with a 
roguish wink. It is my pretty little grandson, I 
suspect.” 

But it was not that alone. The young girl had 
been happy enough, until all at once some mys- 
terious cloud seemed to have darkened her life. 

It was the beginning of winter. The trees in 
the garden were stripped of their leaves, which 
now whirled at their feet in brown eddies, like 
a band of russet-colored imps dancing round a 
May-pole. The flowers had all been removed to 
the greenhouse. The fruit-trees stretched their 
bare branches up to heaven as if begging for a 
new life. The weather at Saint Cyprian had 
been dark and threatening for a week. It was 
as if NatuYe frowned upon the little town for 
some peccadillo it had committed. Madame Car- 
reuse had gone back to Paris. Her son-in-law, 
the sub-prefect, and his wife were installed at a 
fashionable winter resort. The few ladies who 
remained at Saint Cyprian had shut themselves 
up' for the winter. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


106 

George Loudois had been out all day shooting 
at the Jamaye chateau. Marie, wrapped in a big 
black cloak, was getting ready to go out. As she 
carefully put on her gloves she cast anxious 
glances at the sky. Tears were in her eyes ; she 
seemed suffering from some intolerable anguish. 

It was very cold. The hoar-frost lay thick upon 
the ground. The young woman hesitated a mo- 
ment. Then going to her mother-in-law, she said : 

‘T’m going out for a little — not far — only to 
Madame Parent’s.” 

“ I don’t think you ought to expose yourself, 
my dear. This weather is terrible.” 

• ‘ I am very warmly clad.” 

'‘Well, be careful, love.” 

Rose received her visitor cordially. 

" How kind of you to think of me !” she said. 
" Sit here by the fire, dear, and put your feet on 
this footstool.” 

The two young women took seats on opposite 
sides of the fireplace. 

"We are becoming very sad, aren’t we?” was 
Rose’s first remark. 

Marie half unconsciously repeated the words. 
" Very sad.” 

" We Saint Cyprianites, I mean,” continued 
Rose. "Why, how pale you are, child! You 
aren’t cold, are you ? The room is quite warm.” 

" Madame Parent,” began her visitor, " I have 
come to talk to you about a very serious matter.” 


Tky Name is Woman. 107 

A very serious matter ? Oh, for my husband, 
no doubt. Count on me. I shall be glad to help 
you. I suppose it is some matter of business of 
Monsieur Loudois’.” 

Rose leaned back on the sofa, stretched her 
pretty slippered foot out on a footstool, and, with 
her graceful head leaning on her hand, sat wait- 
ing. But Marie did not speak at once. The 
words seemed to stick in her throat. Presently 
she mastered her difihdence and exclaimed, 

“ I can’t bear it any longer. I am humiliated 
— crushed with shame. I have come to you to 
talk with you, without passion, as calmly as I can, 
to appeal to you as a mother, a wife, and a Chris- 
tian — to say to you that you are breaking my 
heart ; for — O my God ! — my husband loves you 
— you love him.” 

Marie had risen and stood paling and reddening 
with alternate shame and terror. She expected 
an outburst of anger on the part of Rose. In- 
stead, her ears were greeted with a peal of laugh- 
ter. 

Oh, how funny ! how very droll ! Who in the 
world told you that nonsense ?” 

‘‘ No one. I saw with my own eyes.” 

'' With your own eyes ? Oh ! ha, ha, ha !” 

Do not insult me, you wicked woman. And 
do not try to deceive me. I saw you, how you 
talked to George when you were dancing so im- 
modestly with him at the sub-prefect’s. Since 


io8 Thy Name is Woman. 

then George is no longer as he used to be. His 
heart is elsewhere. It is with you. I know it, 
madame. Do not contradict me. Only last night 
in his sleep he murmured your name. O you 
bad, bad woman !” 

Then, as Rose still continued to laugh at her, 
the poor little creature fell on her knees before 
her rival, in an ecstasy of despair. 

Have pity on me,” she prayed. I am only a 
child. I am not strong. By whatever you hold 
most sacred ; in the name of you.r child ; in God’s 
name, have pity on my weakness. I know it was 
you who advised George to marry me. You did 
not know me then. You could have no reason 
for hating me. Pity me. You are killing me.” 

Rose raised the child from the ground. As she 
did so a look of sincere commiseration flashed 
across her face. 

'‘You are not well,” she said. “ Your brain is 
filled with phantoms that do not exist. There, 
there, sit down. Lean your head on the back of 
the sofa. Let me wipe your eyes. Don’t speak 
for a moment.” 

“ Oh, how I suffer !” 

“You are a child — a school-girl. If I were not 
fond of you I should be very angry at you. You 
have spoken without thinking. Aren’t you already 
sorry for what you have said?” 

Marie gazed yearningly into the eyes of the 
woman who leaned caressingly over her. The 


Thy Name is Woman, 109 

look that met her own was so loyal, so gentle, so 
motherly in its tenderness that the young girl 
burst into tears. 

Oh,” she exclaimed, “ you are right ! I am ill 
— -crazy. Forgive me, madame. I love him so. 
They talk so wickedly in these little towns. I 
listened to their scandal. But it is not true, is it ? 
When George kisses me at night he is thinking 
alone of me, is he not ? Yes, I know he is. I 
am only making myself miserable for nothing. 
Forgive me, oh, forgive me !” 

‘‘ My dear, love wouldn’t be worth anything 
without a little jealousy,” said Rose, pleasantly, 
seeing herself mistress of the situation. ‘‘ But 
you oughtn’t to suspect your best friend — to cast 
a slur upon an honest mother. Nevermind. It’s 
all over. Come here, you child, and let me kiss 
you — there on that brow, which was just nowall 
ruffled with such unjust anger.” 

After this they had a long confidential talk. 
Madame Parent thought that life was dull at 
Saint Cyprian. As for her, she was going to get 
up some dancing-parties with her old schoolmates. 

Marie on her side whispered that she did not 
like gayety ; her aunt used to call her Cinderella, 
and now George had adopted the nickname. 

Do you read much ?” asked Rose. 

No, not much. Fashion papers and such 
things.” 


no 


Thy Name is Woman. 


If you want to amuse yourself, I have some 
jolly novels Til lend you.” 

“ Auntie doesn’t like me to read novels.” 

Nonsense, my dear ! I admit that young girls, 
perhaps, ought not to read them. It might put 
too many naughty thoughts in their heads. But 
a married woman ought to be informed ; and 
novels give one ideas. They tell you how to 
make yourself loved, adored.” 

Do they?” asked Marie, round-eyed and blush- 
ing slightly. 

'' Certainly they do. Besides, you don't have 
to believe everything you read in them. Only 
they serve to allure the mind above the ordinary, 
the commonplace, the conventional. You needn’t 
read them at the expense of your household 
duties. But in the evening when you are alone, 
when your husband is at the club — he does go 
to the club, doesn’t he?” 

‘‘Yes, but only since the last few weeks.” 

“ Then curl yourself up in a nice easy chair with 
a good novel and dream the evening away. Oh, 
I tell you you will enjoy it. When I was a girl 
I used to read novels without half understanding 
them. Now I read them over again with a new 
pleasure. At the seminary. Miss Laura, one of 
the teachers, used to lend us novels — the yellow- 
covered sort. We used to read them in the dor- 
mitory after the teachers had gone to sleep.” 

“Weren’t you punished ?” 


Thy N^me is Woman. 1 1 1 

Oh, we used to hide them until after Madame 
Castel had made her last round at half-past eight. 
Dear old thing, I can see her now, with her big 
velvet hat with flying strings. She would say, 
'Young ladies, I shall confiscate any novel found 
in the dormitory.’ But as soon as she had gone 
out, any number of novels would make their ap- 
pearance. Dear me, how I gossip ! Didn’t your 
aunt let you have any books ?” 

" Oh yes : books of travel and some religious 
books.” 

" Over which you went to sleep, I dare say. 
That’s all right for girls. But a married woman, 
as I say, ought not to appear ignorant. I have 
just got a story about country-life, about just 
such women as you and I. Oh, there’s a love- 
scene in it to make your mouth water. Wouldn’t 
you like to borrow it? I will send it over to 
you.” 

"All right. I’ll read it. But I must go now,” 
said Marie, rising. " It’s time for George to be 
home. I was very unhappy when I came here, 
dear madame, but you send me away quite reas- 
sured. Will you let me kiss you ?” 

" With all my heart. Ah, now it’s my turn.” 

" How good you are !” 

" Don’t you see how wrong you were to enter- 
tain those naughty suspicions? Ah, jealousy is a 
wretched, wretched faul 


1 12 Thy Nume is Woman. 

You are the very best of women. Good-by, 
good-by.” 

When George got back from the chateau, Marie 
received him with open arms. 

How good you are not to leave me alone for 
long,” she said tearfully. 

‘‘ What is it, Marie ?” 

“ Let me speak. Don’t interrupt me, George. 
Oh, I have been so wicked ! Will you forgive 
me?” 

Forgive you ?” 

‘‘ Yes. I have sinned — I have sinned. 

^‘Eh?” 

“ You will forgive me ?” 

Well, what have you done, little one ? I must 
know what the fault is. Ah, you wish to try my 
confidence in you, eh ? Well, go ahead. I warn 
you that it is very great.” 

Oh, it is I, husband, who have lacked in confi- 
dence.” 

George repressed a sudden start at this speech. 
Then taking Marie’s arm in his, he listened to her 
confession. 

O my angel-girl, how you must have suf- 
fered!” he murmured. Ah, it was terrible. But 
how wrong of you to be jealous of me !” 

His wife continued her story, her eyes radiant 
with joy. George’s simple word was enough for 
her. 

It is because I am all yours, my darling hus- 


Thy Name is Woman, 1 1 3 

band/' she exclaimed. When you are not with 
me it seems as if my heart left me and went with 
you. It is so beautiful, our pure honorable love, 
George. Oh, don’t you remember our wedding 
journey ? One evening — don’t you recollect ? — we 
could do nothing but gaze at each other, without 
speaking a word.’' 

You are an enchantress," murmured George, 
kissing her forehead. 

‘‘ No, not there. Are you afraid of my lips ?" 

‘‘Sweet rogue, there." 

She lay for a long time on his breast, babbling 
of the pure delights of wedded love, ashamed of 
her former fears, and humbly begging again and 
again to be forgiven. George was overcome by 
this spectacle of wifely obedience and affection. 
He pressed her passionately to him, and swore in 
his teeth that he would banish Rose at once and 
forever from his mind. 

“ I am about to become a father," he murmured 
to himself. “ I will also become an honest man." 

With the first winter frost Rose’s beauty in- 
creased marvellously. She was pale with that 
marble pallor which lends an air of wantonness to 
the majesty of Italian statues. Scarcely the small- 
est dash of red relieved the brilliant whiteness of 
her skin. When she smiled, her dazzling teeth 
gleamed between the most ravishing dimples. And 
the marvellous beauty of the face was reflected in 
the depths of her great dark eyes, which changed 


1 14 Thy Name is Woman. 

their shading from time to time with the alterna- 
tions of feeling that took place in the brain be- 
hind them. When the love-light shone in them 
they took a bluish tinge. In anger it was as if 
sparkles of reddish fire came from them. Then 
when all feeling had been banished from the mind, 
the eyes remained with only a pensive calmness 
showing in their dark depths. Ordinarily the 
heavy hair was confined in a silken net. But the 
whiteness of the neck and the blue veins on the 
temples were shaded by little tendrilly locks, silky 
and wavy, vagabond tresses much admired by 
Prosper. The pink and almost transparent nos- 
trils seemed to dilate with each passing thought, 
and the rosy mouth wore the strange, sphinx- 
like smile that Leonardo has given to the lips of 
his Joconda. 

One day as she was playing with Andree in her 
room, the little one called her attention to George, 
who was passing in the street. She sent the child 
away to her nurse, and going to the window made 
a signal. George stopped at once, scratched his 
head as if he had forgotten something, and then 
retraced his steps to his own house. Rose in the 
mean time had traversed the garden and was in 
his room, waiting for him. 

Your wife is at the Bastides?*’ she asked. 

^‘Yes. Why?" 

Never mind. She is a funny little thing, your 
wife. She is the kind that ought to drink tea and 


^ Thy Name is Woman, 1 1 5 

read the Bible. By the way, has she read the 
novels I sent over to her ?*' 

I don't know.” 

Don’t know ! Why, a husband should know 
everything his wife does.” 

But I only love you,” said George, coming 
toward her. Rose laughingly shunned him and 
continued to walk up and down the room. She 
opened the bureau drawers, criticised the linen, 
smelled at the toilette-bottles and then turned up 
her nose. She felt herself quite at home in the 
presence of the nuptial bed, and composedly scat- 
tered about the thousand and one nothings that 
women delight in. 

“ Let us see,” she said. You say you love 
me and me alone. What proof have I of it? You 
need not think I am jealous of your wife. Bah ! 
If she bothered me I’d crush her like a fly. No., 
Marie doesn’t worry me at all. It is those women, 
more beautiful than either of us, whom you know 
in Paris and about whom you are continually 
dreaming.” 

Rose !” 

‘‘Oh, you can’t fool me. Your wife has noth- 
ing to complain of, since she thinks you belong 
entirely to her. But it is different with me. 
When I gave myself to you, I said good-by to 
my honor and laughed at my shame. If I am a 
lost woman, I don’t care. I wished to be. So 
tell me about the beauties of the capital and their 


1 1 6 Thy Name is Woman. 

splendid toilettes and gorgeous houses. We have 
plenty of time to talk. My husband is at work in 
his office. ^ He is earning money, poor man. Tell 
me, how do they dress, the Parisian women ? Better 
than I, eh ? Still this dress came from one of the 
most fashionable modistes in Paris. Perhaps my 
walk doesn’t suit you. Or I ought to be blonde 
instead of brunette. But, see, I don’t use paints 
and powders. My hair grows on my head. I 
don’t use any black under my eyes to make them 
bigger. Oh, you do not love me !” 

I not love you ? My God !” 

No, I tell you. A man in love sacrifices all 
for his love. Do I reflect and consider when I 
come here at any hour you want me ? Supposing 
we were caught. It would be a fine feather in 
your cap, eh ? But think what it would be for 
me. Ah, no ; you do not love me.” 

‘‘ Stop ! What proof do you demand of my 
love? I worship you. Rose.” And the young 
man crushed her passionately to him and pressed 
a long kiss upon her moist red lips. 

I want to go away. Take me away from here. 
I can’t bear longer to play this infamous comedy 
with the woman who wears your name. It is too 
much I am ashamed of myself. Let us go. 
Take me to Paris, where we can live together for- 
gotten by all. I will be as beautiful as the great- 
est toast in town.” 

And your daughter, Rose ?” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


117 


We can fetch her later. Do you hesitate ? 
Oh, unhappy wretch that I am 

“ It will be the ruin of our families. It will kill 
my mother.’' 

Perhaps. But we must suffer all things for 
love’s sake. Are you the only one of us two who 
will make sacrifices by the way ?” 

You meditate our eternal unhappiness.” 

Very well. Let us break off. I’ll kill myself. 
What will you do then ?” 

“ I cannot live without you.” 

And do you think I am going to continue liv- 
ing this galley-slave’s life ? I have a heart in my 
body, and it makes me sick to be continually de- 
ceiving my husband under his very nose. George, 
you have taken me for your own, and you have 
destroyed me. I had some religion once. For 
you I gave up my prayers. For you my mother’s 
love, which inspires the hearts even of bad 
women, has almost been blotted out. Oh, I am 
a thing accursed !’’ 

I cannot — dare not- go,” he groaned. 

Is it on account of your child that is coming? 
Perhaps God may kill him before he is born. If 
he is born alive, I will come myself and drag him 
for you from his mother’s arms.” 

You are mad — mad.” 

“ The hyenas, even, never abandon their young. 
But I do. When I see you there before me, my 
worshipped one, my eyes grow blind to everything 


Ii8 Thy Name is Woman. 

else. I am ready to abandon my baby — my little 
Andr^e. See, I am worse even than the hyenas.” 

How beautiful she was in her frenzy of self- 
abasement and renunciation ! George felt himself 
fascinated and dominated by those eyes now 
sparkling with red flame, anon melting into deep, 
dark azure. She stood there, her arms out- 
stretched, the glorious eyes suffused with tears. 
Her bosom heaved convulsively. It was no longer 
a supplication, it was a command. 

I am conquered,” he murmured. I am 
thine, O Rose, my beloved !” 

The blond head fell upon the woman’s heaving 
bosom, and she, standing still and calm, supported 
him as were he a little child. Proud of her victory 
over him, she continued to murmur little tender 
coaxing phrases into his ear. Her voice assumed a 
humble tone. It was as if she were trying to con- 
ceal from her lover the air of authority which his 
weakness had enabled her to assume toward him. 

A few dim stars were beginning to shine in the 
heavens, and the trees were commencing to look 
vague in the darkness, when Rose, turning the 
corner of the green-house, came face to face with 
Monsieur Faure. 

Hullo, Madame Parent !” exclaimed the old 
gentleman, how you scared me !” 

^‘Ah, Monsieur Faure, have you been here some 
time ?” asked Rose, somewhat embarrassed. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


119 

‘‘ About half an hour. Prosper is still in the 
office. It is devilishly warm in there. But don’t 
you fear the cold yourself, madame ?” 

Madame? Oh, monsieur, that is not friendly 
of you. And you have known me ever since I 
was a child.” 

“ You are grown up now.” 

‘‘What difference does that make?” 

“ I don’t know. One’s habits change, you 
know.” 

“ You ought not to change to me. I am always 
your friend.” 

They entered the dining-room, where Prosper 
joined them and insisted on the old gentleman’s 
staying to dinner. The merchant evidently had 
something on his mind. After dinner he stayed 
with Rose instead of following her husband into 
the office. After a few moments of silence he 
rose, and taking a turn up and down the room, 
stopped before the young wife and said, 

“ Rose — I will call you so since you wish it — 
Rose, you are doing wrong.” 

“Sir!” 

“Yes, wrong, I say.” 

“ Sir, I will not permit you to — ” 

“ It is ruin, I tell you, and at short date too — 
the ruin of your family — bankruptcy, do you 
hear ?” 

He grasped her arm and shook her. 

“ I love you as if you were my own, and I tell 


1 20 Thy Name is Woman, 

you your husband is plunging toward bank- 
ruptcy/' 

You are tragic, Monsieur Faure/' 

Having expected something entirely different, 
she rapidly recovered her composure, and now 
scarcely deigned to notice the angry little man. 

I know," he continued, that I am attending 
to other people's business in this. But it is for 
your sake and Prosper's and Andr^e's that I beg 
you to listen to me. It is absolutely necessary 
that you cut down the household expenses. Your 
servants alone cost God knows what. If you are 
careful you can retrench in a single year enough 
to save you. You love your husband, don't 
you ?" 

‘‘ Of course I do." 

‘‘By Jove! there’s not another fellow of his 
quality in the place. Rose, be reasonable ; be 
economical. Prosper will yet be the happiest of 
men." 

“ Is that all ? Then you can tell Prosper to rest 
in peace. I will be the most prudent of women." 

Monsieur Faure was strangely deceived when he 
said that a year’s retrenchment would straighten 
out the affairs of the Parent household. Prosper 
had got into the habit, when he signed notes for 
the sums he was obliged to borrow, of telling the 
lenders that the moneys were intended for young 
men of family who were in Paris studying law. 
Little by little he had begun to convert to his own 


Thy Name is Woman. 121 

use moneys placed with him for investment. His 
wife was always on the lookout for something 
new to buy, and if the money was not forthcom- 
ing she would get into a violent rage. 

It is my marriage-portion that I want,’’ she 
would cry. 

One day she wanted a new dress to wear to the 
wedding of an old-school friend. This time Pros- 
per refused her absolutely. 

No,” he said, ‘‘it is madness. I cannot do it. 
We have a daughter. Rose, I beg of you, do not 
insist.” 

Whereupon she bounced out of her chair, threw 
her embroidery in his face, and shut herself in her 
room for two days, a prey to a violent nervous at- 
tack. In the end he had to go and beg her pardon, 
accompanied by Madame Cornet, to whom he had 
confided his troubles. But as soon as the notary 
had once begun to yield to the temptation of us- 
ing his trust funds, Rose’s prodigality knew no 
bounds. A grand piano was substituted for the 
old square one. New curtains and draperies were 
ordered for the whole house, and a beautiful new 
set of drawing-room furniture was purchased. 
Two handsome chestnuts from the stables of 
Count de la Duranti^re took the place of the old 
cob which had formerly sufficed. The old covered 
buggy which dated from Cornet times was rele- 
gated to an obscure corner of the carriage-house, 
and for it was substituted a landau upholstered in 


122 


Thy Name is Woman, 


delicate blue, which became the admiration of all 
Saint Cyprian. Andr^e was dressed in the latest 
Parisian mode. The father, throwing figures to 
the winds, felt his heart thrill with pride at these 
exhibitions of his wife's elegant taste. 

You were born to live in a chateau," he would 
murmur admiringly. 

Sometimes the notary would come to his wife's 
room, radiant, tiptoeing in so as to surprise her 
over her novel. Holding his hands behind him, 
he would exclaim, 

I have made a find. Rose." 

Probably that very morning she had wished for 
money for some new purchase, and now he was 
bringing it to her. 

What have I got? Guess." 

She always guessed right, because he had ac- 
customed her to the game. Then he would drop 
the money between the pages of her book while 
she went on reading. The poor fellow would be 
delighted if she tossed him a careless 

“ Thank you. Prosper." 

But he dared never venture on a caress. Sev- 
eral times she had repulsed him. 

I am not feeling well," she would say. You 
annoy me. We can love each other without be- 
having like children, can't we ?" 

Sometimes he would sit down by her and tell 
her how lucky it was that that money had come to 
him when it did. A client whom he supposed in- 


Thy Name is Woman. 


123 


solvent had all of a sudden appeared with money 
and paid him when he least expected it. Then 
Rose would feel touched by her husband’s kind- 
ness, and she would reward him by a kiss upon 
the cheek. 

“ Encore, encore !” he would murmur. “ The 
left cheek will be jealous.” 

The notary carried about his office the demean- 
or of a man who was quite contented with his lot. 
But the old clerk was not deceived. Clapierknew 
the number of the office creditors and the aggre- 
gate of the deposits. One evening he said to his 
employer, 

“ Monsieur Parent, this will all end badly. The 
money you are spending does not belong to you. 
Your wife is ruining you.” 

“ Clapier,” exclaimed the notary, red with an- 
ger, '' how dare you talk to me like that ! 
Whatever I take you may be sure I can replace.” 

And the old clerk would bow his head in 
silence, not wishing to abandon his friend at a 
moment like this, when he knew ruin was directly 
impending. So things, continued until one day 
when Prosper exclaimed to Monsieur Faure, 

My wife has become really economical. She 
buys beautiful things, but they cost almost nothing. 
That’s what comes of buying in Paris. Oh, there’s 
nothing like Paris.” 

George Loudois bore nearly all of the expenses 


124 


Thy Name is Woman, 


of his mistress. Prosper was called on for only 
small amounts. 

Poor man !” said Rose to her lover, we make 
him pay for it, though, with his honor, eh 
What a comedy is this life of ours I 


Thy Name is Woman. 


135 


1 

CHAPTER XI. 

One day not long afterwards Rose was gazing 
listlessly out of her boudoir window. Notwith- 
standing the fire on the hearth, the hoarfrost lay 
thick upon the window-pane. Rose had melted 
this in spots with her hands, and through the 
holes thus made she could plainly see as far as the 
end of the garden. Presently the gate opened and 
a man appeared through the bare branches of the 
berry-bushes that grew along the garden-wall. 

It was hardly four o’clock in the afternoon, but 
it was already dusk. Rose hastily descended the 
stairs. George awaited her but a few steps from 
the door. 

Oh, how good of you to come !” she exclaimed, 
throwing herself into his arms. Prosper will not 
be back until to-morrow. I am alone. And you, 
my adored one ?” 

“ Alone, too.” 

“ Come, then.” 

Slowly they mounted the stairs together with 
arms closely interlaced, stopping several times on 
the way to exchange long passionate kisses. 

“ Crazy!” exclaimed Rose when they were safe 
in her room. ''Yes, I am crazy. Your long ab- 


126 


Thy Name is Woman. 


sence was killing "me. I am a wicked woman. I 
am a bad, unchristian mother. I have tried to 
feel for my child that maternal love which inspires 
all mothers. But I cannot. I used to kneel be- 
fore the Virgin and pour out my heart to her, 
and sometimes I thought that she consoled me.. 
But now you possess my every thought. We are 
going away at last, are we not, my precious one? 
We can devote ourselves to each other with no 
one to hinder. I don't care for anything, I, ex- 
cept that you shall not find me pretty enough for 
you.” 

'' My darling girl !” 

Listen,” she continued, striving to restrain her 
ardor. ‘^You must not deceive me. I am not 
like other women. I am sick with love. Some- 
times my reason wanders, I think. My mad pas- 
sion draws me toward you in spite of myself. I 
call God to witness that I cannot help myself. I 
have deceived my husband without caring whether 
1 sinned or not. If your heart is no longer mine, 
mine alone, you must tell me so now, at once. 

I will make Prosper go into business in some 
other city. I shall at least not have to reproach 
myself with your ruin.” 

It is very sweet to be so loved, Rose,” mur- 
mured George. To-morrow we will fly.” 

'‘And you are not sorry?” She looked at him 
jealously. 

“No.” 


TI%y Name is Woman, 


127 


Everything is ready ?’' 

‘‘Yes/’ 

And your wife?’' 

George’s face paled slightly. The question 
thus hurled in his face at such a time caused him 
a sharp twinge of compunction. 

My wife is at the Bastides. She seemed hap- 
py when I saw her last. Ah, well ! she will have 
time enough for tears.” 

‘‘How you shiver! I have hurt you. Let me 
kiss away the hurt.” 

She held him in a close embrace, caressing him 
passionately. 

“ You are not angry with me?” 

“ No, no. After all, it is you who are making 
the greater sacrifices.” 

“ Let us speak no more about that, please. ' 
Dear, it is getting late. Until to-morrow, then.” 

“ Good-night.” 

Rose hastily got together whatever was neces- 
sary for her journey, and placing the things in a 
portmanteau, gave it to George, who hid it in the 
hedge. The next morning at three o’clock she 
arose. The house was still as death. The night- 
lamp shone dully upon Andr^e’s little cot. The 
night before the child had gone to bed joyous 
from the unaccustomed tenderness of her moth- 
er’s kiss. Rose bent over her for a moment, 
watching the gentle rising and falling of the 
child’s chest in its deep slumber. All at once 


128 


Thy Name is Woman, 


she started. A picture of the Virgin, holding the 
blessed Child in her arms, hung on the wall 
above the cradle. As Rose gazed upon her own 
child a sudden impression of grief seemed to con- 
tract the features of the mother of Christ. This 
fearful impression held possession of the erring 
woman's senses until she saw the carriage stop in 
the deserted street. As she stole out to it, it 
seemed to her as if the dense silence would stran- 
gle her. The shadows from the neighboring 
house seemed never to have been so black and 
threatening before. She placed her hand upon 
her heart to still its beating. Then the carriage- 
door opened, and the next moment she was in 
her lover's arms. 

Prosper had gone to Pensol on important busi- 
ness. He had gone away with a light heart. 
Rose had never been so sweet and good before. 
She had gone to the train with him, and though 
not at all demonstrative by nature, as he knew, 
she had there kissed him warmly good-by, telling 
him to be careful of himself while he was away, 
and not pretending to dissimulate the grief she 
felt at his departure. 

The next day at eleven o’clock a cab stopped 
in front of the Parent door, from which the notary 
descended to learn the news of his dishonor. No 
one knew precisely what had happened, except 
that the runaways had been recognized in their 
carriage by some one who had passed them on 


Thy Name is Woman, 


129 


the high-road. George’s wife had arrived, her 
face ghastly with horror, and going into Rose’s 
empty room, had fallen upon the floor like one 
dead, with just one great cry of agony and de- 
spair. Afterwards she had been taken, still un- 
conscious, to her own home. 

The notary looked around upon the abandoned 
room, the tumbled bed, the garments scattered 
here and there in the haste of departure, the open 
drawers of the bureau, the closet with its yawning 
doorway, the blue eider-down quilt half dragged 
upon the floor. Here were a pair of stockings and 
a chemise. There a night-gown still warm from 
his wife’s body was thrown carelessly over a chair. 
A dreadful smile distorted the poor fellow’s face. 
Leaning his burning forehead upon the cold mar- 
ble of the mantel, he made a sign with his hand 
that he would be alone. 

Andree came to the door. Her father turned 
and looked at her. Seeing him so pale, she stood 
still, glancing timidly up at him. Prosper took 
her in his arms and gazed at her earnestly. 

“ Poor child !” he murmured, you have no 
longer a mother.” 

“ Mamma,” she lisped. 

‘'Your mother is dead.” 

“Dead?” and the child burst into tears. 

“ I am here still, dear.” 

“ Mamma, mamma !” 

“ Do not cry — do not cry.”' 


130 


Thy Name is Woman. 


“ Mamma is dead. Oh, I must see her. Last 
night she gave me such a dear kiss — and George 
too. Where is she? Papa, I want my mamma. 
Mamma, mamma!'' 

Andree, my darling daughter, go down to 
Margaret. You don't want to worry papa, do 
you ? He is very, very unhappy." 

The Beriases, who had been sent for by Mon- 
sieur Faure, soon arrived. Judge Cornet tried to 
devise some means of inspiring a hope that the 
story might not be true. 

No," said Francis, raging, it is no use talking. 
Rose is no better than a street-walker. And as 
for your Loudois, the villain, I will break his back 
when I meet him. And besides being dishonored 
we are ruined. Ah, well, it will kill me. I shall 
never survive it. I don't want to. Prosper, we 
will wring that damned seducer's neck and throw 
his carcass to the hogs, eh ? The scoundrel ! And 
I have worked like a dog all my life for this. Oh, 
God is not just. No, God is not just." 

Be silent, father," said Janette. Rose is 
mad. That man has bewitched her. But she 
will come back. Or I will go to the ends of the 
earth after her. Poor little Andree ! Oh, what a 
dreadful thing! My God, what a dreadful thing!" 

The law is on your side. Prosper," murmured 
the judge. 

‘‘The law? Yes, I know." 

“You can have her brought back.'* 

“Never. She is dead to me." 


Thy Name is Woman. 1 3 1 

‘' I will go to Paris,” continued Janette. '' Rose 
is there. I’ve often heard her speak of that 
wicked city.” 

No, no,” said Prosper, don’t speak to me of 
her any more. You are killing me. Don’t you 
see you are killing me ?” 

'' Courage, Prosper,” said the judge. '‘Think 
of your weeping child, who loves you and who 
still remains to you.” 

" Yes, I will have courage. I know I am a 
father. That is my first duty. O God, how I 
suffer ! Why are we all here ? Have I com- 
mitted some crime ? Say, have I ? Oh, I shall 
go mad !” 

Janette was caressing Andree. 

"You shall come to the farm with us,” the old 
woman said. " I will take care of you, and we 
shall love each other dearly.” 

"Grandma, I must have a black dress like that 
one Lucie Berger wore when she lost her papa.” 

Young Madame Loudois had been taken to her 
own home, where she had at last recovered con- 
sciousness. The extent of the misfortune was 
still greater to her. How happy her life had been 
at the Bastides! At this solemn moment she 
seemed to see as in a mirage the great sycamore 
trees in which the birds she used to love still sang 
for her their sweet songs. How many dear plans 
for their future life she had devised under those 
spreading branches ! And then her mind dwelt 
upon that last talk she had had with the infamous 


132 


Thy Name is Woman, 


woman, from which she had come with such a 
lighteaed heart. And soon she would become a 
mother. Her child was coming into the world 
with the stigma of shame upon him. He would 
learn of his father only to hate and curse him. 

Aunt Varennes could not console her niece. It 
was she who had advised the marriage. Now she 
was plunged into the depths of despair. She 
wished to carry Marie away with her to the Bas- 
tides. But the young girl did not think she ought 
to abandon George’s father and mother, until old 
Madame Loudois, who had been praying all day, 
.counselled her to go. 

“ The sight of this house will kill you by inches,” 
she said. You are still our daughter, and we love 
you dearly. We will come and mourn with you.” 

That evening Marie sent over and asked to see 
Prosper. She said to herself that it was her duty 
to do something to console the unhappy man, who 
they said was meditating suicide. The notary 
came to her, alone, by the old garden-path that 
the lovers had used to take, just as dusk was de- 
scending upon the town. His brow was all cor- 
rugated with the intense mental struggle through 
which he had been passing. When Marie took 
his two hands in hers with an almost filial rever- 
ence, his great chest shook with a mighty sob. 
Then he stood still and red before her, like a big 
child who has been unjustly punished but who 
feels that he has no right to complain. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


133 


CHAPTER XIL 

Arrived at Paris, the runaways drove to a 
private hotel, where they registered as Monsieur 
and Madame de Magnac, a name suggested by 
George as having a decidedly respectable and even 
aristocratic sound. Rose thought that Count 
and Countess de Magnac” would look much bet- 
ter, and her companion had some difficulty in per- 
suading her out of the idea. 

My dear,” he remonstrated, “ it seems to me 
that under the circumstances it would be quite as 
well not to attract attention to ourselves.” 

It was late when they rose from their first din- 
ner in Paris — too late to go to the theatre. So 
they went out to walk upon the boulevard, like a 
plain pair of newly-married country people. Rose 
was delighted with the brilliancy of the streets, 
and amazed by the throngs of people who brushed 
past her under the gaslights. She pressed closelx’ 
to her lover’s side, declaring that she felt afraid of 
being recognized by some one in the crowd. 
Amid all this mass of people there might well be 
some from the neighborhood of their old home. 
George quieted her b}' telling her that everybody 
they met was busy attending to his own business 


134 


Thy Name is Woman. 


and was not at all interested in the affairs of any 
one else. No one was bothering himself about 
lier. Besides, if they should chance upon a meet- 
ing with any of the old Perigord people, it would 
be easy enough to throw them off the track. He 
told her she would soon get used to the noise and 
bustle of the city. When he had first come up to 
Paris himself as a student he had been unable to 
sleep on account of the uproar in the streets. But 
soon this had become a regular lullaby to him. 

How I should have loved to be with you here 
when you were studying law,’’ exclaimed Rose, 
hugging his arm. 

By this time they had reached one of the larger 
cafes of the Montmartre boulevard. Rose objected 
to going in, but soon yielded her scruples to her 
lover’s wishes. 

In Paris,” said George, we may do precisely 
as we please. It is nobody’s business but our 
own.” 

Two heavily-bearded men were playing domi- 
noes at a table near the one they occupied. 
George ordered some mixed drinks after the 
American fashion. Rose glanced around her at 
the various groups sitting at the other tables. 
Her attention was riveted by a couple of artificial- 
looking women near by who were drinking beer 
and smoking cigarettes with some young men. 
Rose watched the rings of smoke as they rose 
from the saucy lips, and especially admired . the 


Thy Name is Woman, 


X3S 


motions of the small gloved hands. She thought 
that they talked too loud, laughed too much, and 
were too familiar with the men. One of them, 
who had her hair dressed in a most elaborate man- 
ner, especially piqued Rose’s curiosity. She heard 
her called Clorinde, and she was amusing herself 
telling the fortunes of her companions with a 
pack of cards. 

It’s funny,” whispered Rose to her compan- 
ion after a while, how that girl with the hair 
reminds me of Margaret Fornel, an old school- 
mate of mine. She has the same eyes and the 
same voice. I would swear it was she if I didn’t 
know that Margaret is an attorney’s wife at 
Pensol.” 

My dear Rose,” said George banteringly, 
you must wake up and not look so sober. 
Give us one of your pretty smiles. Ah, that’s 
better. You were looking as if you had lost 
your best friend.” 

‘‘ That’s because I’ve never been used to any- 
thing,” laughed Rose. I suppose I am awkward. 
Those ladies would laugh at me, I dare say.” 

'' Oh, no.” 

I shall learn Parisian ways in time. But God 
preserve me from being anything like those 
women.” 

At this moment one of the domino-players let 
fall some words which arrested the attention of 
the lovers. 

\ 



136 


Thy Name is Woman. 


Poor Berk/' he was saying, he's well paid 
for his own peccadilloes. ‘ Whoso draws the 
sword shall perish by the sword,' eh ?" 

'' Oh, yes. You mean his wife's escapade," re- 
turned the other. 

And he a member of the Chamber of Deputies, 
too. It's perfectly shameful." 

'‘Well, was it his fault that his wife ran away 
from him ?" 

"Yes, of course it was his fault — a rounder like 
him who slept out three nights out of four, and 
who was perpetually running after actresses. 
Here, boy, give me a bock." 

"They are talking about Berk de Villemont," 
whispered Rose, excitedly. 

" Yes. Keep quiet and listen. Don’t let them 
suspect we are interested." 

" The minister, his uncle," continued the last 
speaker, " ought to take a hand in." 

" Bosh ! the minister has other fish to fry." 

" Who is the man ? An actor, they say." 

"Yes; the fellow who made a hit recently at 
the production of ' The Bluebird ' at the Odeon." 

" Is she pretty?" 

" Oh, so, so. A blonde. She's too fat. All the 
women are too fat nowadays. The two lit out 
the next day after the production." 

" Gad ! Berk must be furious." 

"Not he. He took it as a good joke, rather. 
I dare say he was glad to get rid of her. That 


Thy Name is Woman. 137 

same night he supped with Prince Ren^ and a 
jolly lot.” 

‘‘^A good fellow, that German prince, they all 
say.” 

Yes, and a gay one. A regular rake.” 

‘‘ Oh, a man is no less a man because he is a 
prince.” 

Just so. And this being so, I think Til- end 
this game right here. There you are — blocked 
with fives.” 

Thunder ! What luck !” 

Well, look happy about it — as happy, say, as 
Berk de Villemont.” 

And the two men laughingly began another 
game. George paid his bill, and tucking Rose's 
hand under his arm, sought the’street. Here he 
indulged himself in a long laugh. 

Well,” he exclaimed, I never would have be- 
lieved it.” 

‘‘Poor Monsieur de Villemont!” murmured 
Rose. 

“ My dear, it seems to be in the air. You and 
I and he. Ha, ha, ha !” 

“ His wife was very nice?” 

“ Yes. That accounts for it.” 

“ Oh, but an actor ! Think of it ! Poor woman, 
how I pity her !” 

“ And yourself, by the same token ?” 

“Oh, no, George, never.” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


138 

The lovers spent most of the ensuing week in 
the shops, where George urged his mistress to in- 
dulge her taste for dress to the utmost. But 
Rose would often demur. 

No,” she would say, '' I will not buy that. It 
is too expensive.” 

“But you are not buying it for yourself,” 
George would urge. “ It is for me you make 
yourself beautiful, is it not ?” 

And Rose would yield and would bestow upon 
her lover a ravishing smile, filled with a certain 
mysterious languor indefinable except to the happy 
fellow himself. But George would ruin himself 
for one of those smiles. 

Their evenings they generally spent at one of 
the theatres, where Rose’s magnificent beauty 
attracted a great deal of attention from the or- 
chestra chairs. In the course of a few weeks thdy 
rented an apartment in a fashionable street, but 
in an unpretentious-looking house, the quiet ex- 
terior of which was belied by the luxury displayed 
within. 

“ Our interior,” said Rose, as she proudly sur- 
veyed her drawing-room crowded with the most 
expensive furniture, bronzes, pictures, and bric- 
a-brac, “ will have to excuse the plainness of our 
house-front.” 

The apartment was beautifully furnished 
throughout. But Madame de Magnac’s bedroom 
in particular was a marvel of luxury and elegance. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


139 


In the midst stood a heavy carved oak bedstead, 
its four inlaid columns supporting a rich silken 
canopy. The walls were hung with some fine old 
tapestry representing peacocks and birds of para- 
dise in all their brilliant coloring, trees embroid- 
ered in green and gold, cavaliers on white horses, 
and a background of gray ruins which formed an 
excellent foil and brought out the tone and fin- 
ish of the web. The mantel, richly inlaid like the 
columns of the bed, was hung with blue plush 
velvet of the same shade as the upholstering of 
the chairs. On this stood a Psyche and a Diana- 
huntress facing each other, exquisitely carved in 
Carrera marble. There were also, on an ebony 
plinth, a German china clock and two Sevres 
vases. The carpet was of the thickest velvet ; 
and, as if to cap the climax of all this luxury, the 
ceiling was frescoed with a masterpiece of the 
Hungarian artist Hans Makart. A couple of 
graceful statuettes seemed to admire themselves 
in the great mirrors that reached from floor to ceil- 
ing at either end of the room. Portieres woven 
of silk and wool concealed the door that led into 
the bathroom. The bathtub, built in the shape of 
a gondola, was fashioned to resemble a swan. It 
and the floor upon which it stood were made of 
Limoge porcelain. 

Into this retreat Rose withdrew each morning, 
and there forgot those long-ago summers when 
she, a half-savage country girl, used to delight to 


140 Thy Name is Woman. 

plunge into the waters of the little river that 
flowed by Jarry’s Cross. 

A young dressmaker of Saint Cyprian to whom 
Rose had once done a kindness wrote to her from 
time to time and gave her the news of the town. 
By this means she knew that her daughter was 
living at Jarry’s Cross ; that Prosper was plodding 
steadily along at his work ; and that George's 
wife was living at the Bastides. More than this 
she did not care to learn. The women down 
there might criticise her conduct. Their scandal 
and envy mattered not to her. She would never 
again see the wretched town. And Andree? 
Well, she would get her again, some day when 
she was older. If her husband opposed her in 
this, she would take the child by force. But she 
did not believe the notary would dare to refuse 
her. 

Meanwhile she gave herself entirely up to the 
pursuit of pleasure. She made George renew his 
acquaintance with old college friends. She 
coaxed him to take her to the Bois almost every 
(lay, no matter how cold the weather. She wanted 
to see and experience everything. It was, she 
said, the only way to smooth the country wrin- 
kles out of her, and to get rid of her southern ac- 
cent, about which she was a little diffident. She 
affected a certain thickness of tongue which 
caused her to be often taken for a foreigner. This 
pleased her. She much preferred to be thought 


Thy Name is Woman. 


141 

a Russian, German, or English lady than what she 
really was — a French peasant. 

One evening George and Rose went to the 
Palais-Royal Theatre to see a new play which was 
‘‘attracting considerable attention. As they were 
passing through the foyer to their places George 
felt a hand on his shoulder. 

'' Villemont he exclaimed. 

No other.'’ 

Rose turned and saw the Count de Villemont, 
the member of the assembly for Saint Cyprian. 
In some confusion she cast down her eyes, 
blushing furiously as the Count bowed to her, 
saying, 

'' I cannot be mistaken. It is Madame Parent 

Rose stammered a few words and withdrew her 
hand from George’s arm. Villemont, not under- 
standing the situation, continued. 

And my dear friend the notary? He has 
come to Paris at last, eh ?” 

Yes, sir. He is not quite well this evening. 
He is at the hotel.” * 

** And your wife, Loudois ? When is the little 
heir expected ?” 

Oh, in a few months— in May or June.” 

Accept my felicitations in advance.” 

They talked for a few moments longer. Then 
Rose, who had recovered her self-possession, took 
George’s arm, scarcely concealing her desire to 
get away. 


142 


Thy Name is Woman. 


Now that you are in Paris/’ said the Count, 
cordially, I hope you will come to dine with 
me. Of course with Monsieur Parent. It will 
be at a restaurant, you understand. I am living 
at my uncle’s house. It is not very gay theixv 
Name the date. Well, do you hesitate? You 
know, George, I was always glad to dine with you 
at Saint Cyprian.” 

George buttonholed the member and led him 
aside. 

Villemont,” said he, you can keep a secret ?” 

“ Yes/’ 

Your word of honor ?” 

Damn it ! of course. Go on.” 

Very well, then. We two have eloped and 
are living in Paris together as husband and wife.” 

Berk .de Villemont felt himself blushing. It 
was his wife’s story over again. 

‘'Very well,” he said presently. Your secret 
is safe with me. After all, we have only one life 
to live. We might as well amuse ourselves. 
Shake.” 

“ Villemont,” said George, giving him his hand, 
“ you are a true friend.” 

“And now,” said the Count, turning back to 
Rose, who was standing pale and troubled a few 
steps from them, “ I want you to dine with me 
Thursday evening. There will be some clever 
people, Madame — ” 

“ Madame Rose de Magnac.” 


Thy Name is Woman. 


H3 


‘'Ah, very good name that. Well, don’t for- 
get. I shall count upon you. Until then.” And 
saluting profoundly, he left them to enter the thea- 
tre. 

Rose was preoccupied during the entire eveiv 
ing. When they got home, George spoke to her 
about it. 

“ I was thinking,” she said. Then suddenly 
she wound her arms around her lover’s neck and 
kissed him passionately upon the mouth. “ My 
love is too strong for me, George. To-night I 
felt ashamed as I stood in the presence of that 
man. Then I gave myself a talking to. I said : 
‘ Rose, my girl, you are behaving wickedly ; you 
must leave your lover at once and go straight 
back to your husband and child. Pray God for 
strength.’ Well, I didn’t listen to a fool word 
they said on the stage. I prayed to-night in that 
theatre, fervently, sincerely, although I wasn’t on 
my knees, just as I used to pray in church, just as 
I have prayed in my own chamber for a long win- 
ter’s day. Pshaw ! I might as well talk to the 
wind. It’s too strong for me, I tell you.” 


144 


Thy Name is Woman, 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The Count had not been so much astonished 
by Loudois' confession as he had pretended to 
be. He had been by no means ignorant of the 
scandals that had been whispered about these two 
at Saint Cyprian. He was very glad of this op- 
portunity to renew his acquaintance with the se- 
ductive Madame Parent. He had indeed at one 
time meditated a siege of the fair provincial’s 
heart, but the advent of George Loudois had 
spoiled his plans. The younger man had for the 
time being carried all before him. But here in 
Paris the situation was changed. De Villemont 
would be the . tender lover — the seducer, while 
George would occupy something of the position 
of the deceived husband. Rose’s smile had lost 
none of its strange beckoning charm, and her deep, 
dark eyes still contained delicious, unutterable 
promises. So the deputy was disposed to hug 
himself over this chance meeting. He promised 
himself an early call upon the object of his new 
aspirations. 

De Villemont was the husband of a cabinet 
minister’s niece, of whom he had become disem- 
barrassed in the manner related. The separation 


Thy Name is Woman, 145 

had in fact taken place with the utmost good feel- 
ing on both sides. The minister was ignorant of 
the rupture between his niece and her husband. 
As for her escapade with the actor, he was too 
much occupied with the cares of government to 
have time for newspaper gossip. He supposed 
that Madame de Villemont was at some health 
resort for the entire winter. Berk did not care to 
undeceive his uncle, and indeed was not himself 
at all certain that his wife, who was reputed to be 
a dragon of virtue, had so trodden her wifely 
duties under foot as was popularly believed. He 
did not indeed know where his wife was at the 
time, and he took precious good care not to find 
out. He admitted to himself, laughingly, that his 
own life was a sufficient excuse for his wife's con- 
duct. Ever since his election it had been one 
continued orgy. He rarely made his appearance 
at the Chamber, but spent his nights in gambling 
or at the public balls, dragging his noble title and 
his political reputation through pretty much all 
the moral filth the wicked capital contained. He 
was a favorite at court, however. He was the 
leading spirit in all the Tuileries balls and of the 
little secret banquets at Compiegne, and he was 
understood to be the facile inventor and conductor 
of those unmentionable sports and pastimes in 
which Napoleon III. and his intimates were popu- 
larly supposed to revel. 

His complexion was of that marble pallor which 


146 


Thy Name is Woman, 


Rose had taken so much pains and spent so much 
time in acquiring for herself. His figure was 
slender and his limbs delicately fashioned. His 
blond curly hair framed an aristocratic face and 
brought into strong relief the whiteness of his 
skin. A slight mustache shaded his upper lip, 
and he had a pair of eyes that could be very elo- 
quent when the Count was engaged in his favorite 
pastime of lady-killing. 

The Emperor had been particularly well satis- 
fied on learning that he should be able to com- 
mand De Villemont’s vote and influence in the 
Chamber. His father had been an ambassador 
under Charles X. His nobility was as old as that 
of the kings who had now ceased to rule. It im- 
posed upon and overawed the throng of pinch- 
beck nobles and sycophants who flattered and 
cringed before the new-crowned dynasty. Had 
he desired he might have married a daughter of 
one of the oldest and greatest families in the 
Empire. He had preferred the niece of a ple- 
beian who had become by virtue of his talents and 
address one of the most conspicuous figures in the 
politics of the Second Empire. 

The minister had at once determined to bring 
his new nephew into the Chamber of Deputies, 
and on looking over the map of France for a dis- 
trict for him, had selected that of Saint Cyprian 
as being the one where public education had 
reached its nadir-point, and where therefore the 


Thy Name is Woman, 147 

voters might be considered least jealous of their 
political privileges and most complaisant to the 
imposition of a government candidate. That 
he chose wisely the event proved. For the Count 
^had had no difficulty in securing his election after 
a somewhat liberal disbursement of patronage, 
crosses of the Legion, medals, and other gewgaws. 
By continuing to distribute these in a more pru- 
dent manner, and by an extravagant outlay in the 
way of promises, he had built up his influence in 
his district until, at the time of which I write, no 
man in the Chamber was more popular with his 
constituents than was this young voluptuary and 
boulevard lounger. His uncle complimented him 
upon his political acumen. 

'‘Oh,” said Berk, “you are too flattering. It 
seems to me the game is very simple. It needs 
but two cards — blarney and the swill-tub. The 
wonder to 'my mind is that my colleagues are for 
the most part such asses as not to catch on.” 

The next day after the meeting at the Palais- 
Royal, Berk called at the apartment of Madame 
de Magnac. Rose’s maid answered his ring. 

“ Is Madame de Magnac in ?” 

“ Yes, sir. Will you give me your card ?” 

“ La-la,” said Berk to himself, “ my lady is put- 
ting on style.” 

The maid took his card, and presently return- 
ing, said. 


143 


Thy Name is Woman. 


‘'Will you follow me, sir?” 

The member was astonished at the luxury that 
presented itself on every side. He was ushered 
into a drawing-room richly furnished in blue and 
gold. The ceiling was frescoed to represent a 
cloudy sky peopled with angels and cherubs. A 
spark-screen of heavy silver stood before the fire- 
place. Fragrant flowers occupied vases in every 
corner of the room. In the midst of the soft 
warm light sat Rose in an elegant negligee. She 
was reclining upon a sofa, swinging a magnificent 
feather fan in her hand and wearing a contented 
simper upon her lips. 

Berk bowed profoundly and excused himself 
for calling so early in the morning. Madame de 
Magnac gracefully waved him to a seat near her, 
and said to the maid, 

“ Phrosine, tell Monsieur de Magnac that a 
friend has called.” 

They had exchanged but a few words when 
Loudois entered. 

“ Ah, you were at work?” exclaimed the Count. 
“ I have disturbed you ?” 

“ Not at all. I was amusing myself with my 
books. I have a fad for anthropology just now.” 

“ The dickens you have !” 

‘ Oh, George is becoming quite serious of late,” 
interposed the lady. 

“ I congratulate you, my dear fellow. And 


Thy Name is Woman. 


149 


you, madame, permit me to corhpliment you oh 
your elegant drawing-room/’ 

‘‘You are too kind.” 

“ By the way, I’ve a bit of news for you from 
Saint Cyprian.” 

“What is it?” exclaimed Rose, eagerly, think- 
ing of her child. 

“ Oh, nothing special. I have a letter from his 
majesty Leopold — our friend the Pouter.” 

“ From Monsieur Moulineau ?” 

“ He is coming to Paris to spend the Christmas 
holidays. He is full of his usual nonsense. He 
talks a good deal about George, and wants to 
know if I have seen him.” 

“ Oh, we must move at once, then,” cried Rose. 

“You aren’t afraid that I’ll give you away, are 
you?” grunted the Count. 

“ No ; but Moulineau is a boor whom I don’t 
wish to see, that’s all.” 

“ Oh, don’t worry, ”^said Berk, laughing, “ I’ll be 
as mum as an oyster.” 

Loudois was leaning against the mantel, a trifle 
pensive. 

“ I know Pouter,” he said. “ He will break his 
back to find out where we are. If he doesn’t suc- 
ceed, he’ll make up a pack of lies about us. Per- 
haps it would be better to receive him, if only to 
keep him quiet.” 

“ Well, perhaps you are right,” assented Rose, 


150 Thy Name is Woman. 

doubtfully. ‘‘ We must stop his mouth if we can. 
Have you answered his letter?” 

I’m going to, this evening.” 

Then please don’t say anything about us. 
We will let him know when he comes to the city.” 
“ Rely upon my discretion, madarhe.” 

Rose had already acquired some of the arts of 
polite conversation. They talked literature, art, 
and even politics. The member, who was one of 
the leaders of the Imperial party, spoke with en- 
thusiasm in favor of the new regime, which, while 
it maintained with firmness its own authority, had 
wisely abandoned many of the cruel usages and 
oppressive customs of former times. 

George listened in silence to his friend, who 
really talked quite brilliantly. Presently Rose 
said, with an air of charming naivete, 

'' I beg that you will send us tickets for the 
gallery when you make your next speech, sir.” 

Most certainly.” ^ 

Soon after he took his leave and drove at once 
to the Bourse. It was a time when all Paris was 
plunged in speculation. Stock-gambling, like a 
black cloud, hung over the city, darkening every 
brain and bringing night into many a generous 
heart. It was a time when fortunes were realized 
in a few days, while other fortunes were dissipated 
in as many hours. It was the last year of the 
Second Empire. The craze for luxury which had 
inspired all classes had heated the spirit of specu- 


Thy Name is Woman, 1 5 1 

lation to the boiling-point. The whole world 
gambled. The Bourse was the field of battle, or 
rather the slaughter-house, in which murder was 
the order of the day. 

To-day was a field-day at the Bourse. Up and 
down the steps ran nimble clerks and messengers 
charged with orders to buy and sell from cus- 
tomers who tremblingly waited in neighboring 
caf^s. On the street in front was gathered a 
throng of private carriages awaiting their masters, 
who were gambling inside. Amid this throng 
stood more than one little coupe upholstered in 
blue satin, from the doors of which would peep 
from time to time pretty heads charmingly coifed, 
like so many little birds in their nests clamoring 
to be fed. Dapper stock-brokers would emerge 
from the Bourse and converse with the occupants 
of these carriages. After reassuring their fair 
customers with promises of a rising market that 
should practically have no end and that meant 
unlimited wealth and luxury for the pretty gam- 
blers, they would disappear within the building 
again with the air of men who, as the high-priests 
of agio, held the fortunes of the world at their 
mercy — a spectacle for gods and men. Two 
women leaning lazily back in one of these coupes 
were talking. 

Why doesn’t Berk come ?” exclaimed one, 
peevishly. 

‘‘ He’ll be here directly.” 


152 


Thy Name is Woman, 


Hum ! Tm worried about him. Last night 
he had altogether too much to say about that 
little woman from the country, Madame — 

De Magnac? Bah! You aren’t afraid of a 
country woman, are you ?” 

No. But—” 

Hush ! here he is.” 

At this moment Berk appeared at the win- 
dow and pressed the two little hands that were 
stretched out to him. 

‘‘ Count, why did you make us wait ?” 

“ My dear Leah — ” 

Some new flame, I suppose.” 

“ My dear child,” said the member, shrugging 
his shoulders, “you know that you are my only 
real passion.” 

“Truly?” 

“ I am going to prove it.” 

“ How prove it?” interposed the other girl. 

“ One of these days, if you two are good, you 
and Alice, I am going to introduce you to two 
friends of mine.” 

“ Monsieur and Madame de Magnac?” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Is she pretty?” 

“ You will see.” 

“ When shall we see them ?” 

“ ril let you know.” 

“ All right. Are they noble ?” 

Hardly yet.” 


V 


Thy Name is Woman, 


153 


Millionaires ?” 

That’s nearer it.” 

‘‘ Good — that’s very good.” 

Now, my dear children, you must let me go. 
I will attend to that stock for you, Leah. How 
many shares did you want? Two hundred ? Very 
good.” 

De Villemont turned and slowly ascended the 
steps, while the coupe moved off. 

Since the departure of his wife Prosper had 
become a changed man. The giant was bowed 
to the earth. He generally spent his evenings 
with his little girl, cutting bits of cork which he 
blackened in the flame of the lamp, making little 
images out of bits of bread, cutting paper-dolls, 
drawing pictures of tumblers, bottles, or what- 
ever other objects would please the child. She 
greeted the results of his efforts with shouts of 
laughter which caused him to persevere with an 
energy that was ghastly to look upon. Some- 
times he would play the game of little mamma” 
with her. 

'' You are my papa and mamma both now, 
aren’t you ?” Andree would ask. 

‘‘Yes, yes,” he would respond slowly and awk- 
wardly, as if the words froze his lips and his heart. 
“ I must take your mother’s place as best I can,” 
he would think, soul-sick in his loneliness. 

So, when the little child would order, the big 


154 


Thy Name is Woman, 


child would laugh, make faces, sing even, although 
when he approached the great pier-glass in the 
drawing-room, and saw his eyes so horribly wide 
open and his mouth so distorted, he would tremble 
lest his reason was about to forsake him alto- 
gether. 

When the mother abandons the house, it is as 
if night had eclipsed day. Everything is dark and 
gloomy after that. Dead or fled, mementoes of 
her are everywhere. Here a bit of her writing, 
there a piece of her fancy work, some of her 
colored worsted, an old ring or brooch, a pair of 
gloves, a veil, or the chair upholstered in blue 
silk, her work. She it was who ordered the set- 
ting of the table, brushed the little girl’s hair, pre- 
sided over all the pleasures that the family en- 
joyed. When she was sick, she used to sit there 
in that big arm-chair after supper was over. If 
she slept, everybody tiptoed about, for fear of 
waking her. She was so sweet, so beautiful in her 
madonna-slumber. 

When father and daughter had exhausted the 
evening with their games, when the table was 
covered to overflowing with the sketches, the little 
dough manikins, and the paper dolls, the tired 
child would quietly fall asleep in the man’s arms, 
and he would patiently wait until old Margaret 
came to take her. \ 

When he was alone he would get up and pace 
the room wildly. He saw his happiness gone 


Thy Name is Woman. 155 

forever, and contemplated with anguish the dreary 
desert of his future. He safd that this contempla- 
tion of his abandoned home was a punishment 
that he did not deserve. Would not some one 
make a noise or do something, so that he could 
forget for a moment this memory which followed 
him about so pitilessly "i Perhaps God would have 
pity on him and take away his reason. At such 
times, when the strong man was crushed to the 
earth under the weight of his agony, he seemed 
to hear a strange voice calling through the dreary 
silence : 

Monsieur Parent and you, little girl, you may 
make all the noise you want to. Mamma has 
gone away; the home is destroyed.’' 

The bills for the house-furnishing began to 
shower upon the notary, who found himself un- 
able to pay them. His creditors, having sympa- 
thy for him in his bereavement, offered to give 
him time and to take his personal notes. Clapier 
counselled the giving up of the furniture and a 
refusal to pay for the same. 

It is ruin if you don’t,” he urged. 

I would rather a hundred times be ruined than 
dishonored,” responded the notary, calmly. 

He was advised to quit Saint Cyprian and buy 
a business in another city. But this was impossi- 
ble. The office was on the brink of ruin. He 
must try and gain'time, so as to weather the storm 
that was sweeping down upon him. 


156 


Thy Name is Woman. 


The Beriases remained quietly at Jarry’s Cross, 
seeing no one. They also were nearly ruined. 
They had been obliged to sell all the lands they 
owned in the neighborhood of Rouclee, and their 
valuable vineyards at Prince’s Spring had gone 
into the hands of the Marquis de Jamaye. All 
they had left were the two farms on the left-hand 
side of the high-road, and these were heavily 
mortgaged. Scarcely any one now offered to 
shake the old farmer’s hand of a Sunday at church. 

Little Andr^e often came to Jarry’s Cross. 
But Prosper never left his office. Janette re- 
ceived news of her daughter regularly through 
Lucette, the Saint Cyprian dressmaker. But she 
was unable to get from that trusty person Rose’s 
address in Paris. 

I suppose you will give me the address when 
my daughter is dying,” the old woman would 
grumble. 

‘‘ Don’t be angry, Madame Berias. I am de- 
voted to the interests of Madame Parent, that is 
all. She didn’t do right to leave her husband, I 
admit. But that’s not my business. If you have 
any message for her I will forward it conscien- 
tiously. But I won’t give you the address. I 
have promised.” 

The poor old woman could not insist. Her 
husband and son-in-law did not know that she was 
constantly in receipt of news from the runaway. 
She kept her own counsel, and wept quietly into 


Thy Name is Woman. 


157 


the mangers as she fed the cattle of an evening. 
When Lucette came to read a letter to her she 
would draw her into some far corner of the barn, 
and there, among the cattle with their smoking 
muzzles and their great vacant eyes turned won- 
deringly toward them, she would make the dress- 
maker repeat word for word the lines traced by 
her lost Rose. The latter wrote that she was liv- 
ing quietly and happily with George Loudois, and 
that if her mother needed anything she had only 
to tell her what it was. 

Money made in that way !” the old woman 
would exclaim. ‘‘Never!’' 

And with that sluggish calm that she had ac- 
quired from long dwelling among farm animals, 
she would hear the letter through, happy to learn 
that her daughter was not sick, and saying at the 
end'that there was still no reason for giving up 
hope of Rose’s final repentance and salvation. 

On these days Francis found his wife more than 
usually cheerful, which he did not understand. 
However, he had troubles enough to occupy his 
mind and keep it from curiosity. The month of 
December that year was a terrible one for farmers. 
The fields, almost submerged by the incessant 
rains, had to be manured over again. 

Never mind, father,” Janette would say. 
“ There’s no use kicking against the pricks. That 
won’t mend matters. Let us hope still. Perhaps 


158 Thy Name is Woman. 

little Andr^e will see her mother again some 
day — ” 

If she ever comes back again, I’ll break her 
head with my mattock.” 

Hush ! hush ! God says to forgive — ” 

God ? Well, just let God mind his own busi- 
ness, that’s all. Besides, there’s a lot of scandal 
about our son-in-law. They say he has embez- 
zled.” 

How can you believe such a thing of Pros- 
per?” exclaimed Janette, angrily. ‘‘ Francis, you 
know that he is an honest man. Look at all of 
those bills of Rose’s that he paid out of his own 
pocket.” 

‘‘Yes; and if he hadn’t, we would have been 
called on again. And what would we pay with. 
I’d like to know. If he had watched his wife 
more carefully, it would not be so.” 

“ That’s as much our fault as his. You wanted 
to see our daughter nicely dressed on Sundays. 
Her head was turned. She thought she was 
richer than she really was. But ” — sobbing — “ we 
were so happy — so happy — oh ! oh !” 

“ There, now — there, now, don’t cry,” exclaimed 
the old man, completely carried away himself, as 
he got up and kissed his wife’s cheek. 

So passed each long evening at the old farm- 
house. The two old people sat alone, with never 
a neighbor-gossip to drop in and cheer them with 
the news. Janette plied her distaff ; Berias made 


Thy Name is Woman. 


159 


brooms and baskets to sell on the next market-day. 
If some belated traveller chanced to peep through 
the window, he could see these two aged beings, 
their faces wrinkled by a long life of toil, their 
hands calloused by the farming implements and 
smirched by the dust of the barns, passing the 
lone watches of the night laboring at their sepa- 
rate tasks like wax automatons, without hope or 
desire for the future. 

During this period of mourning and sorrow in 
the Berias family. Rose, a little weary of her gay 
life, felt within her a faint re-stirring of her old 
religious enthusiasm. She began to go to mass 
at the Saint-Roch church hard by, where, without 
knowing it, she elbowed and was elbowed by act- 
resses and women of the world turned devotees. 
She would sit there for hours plunged in sad mem- 
ories, dreaming that she was again in the old 
home, intoxicated by the morning sunlight and 
the fresh verdure of the fields, listening to the 
singing of a thrush in the hedge, picking daisies, 
drinking milk fresh from the cow — in short, that 
she had returned again to the dear glad days of 
her childhood. It seemed to her as if, down there 
in the old home at least, the God of Pity was par- 
doning her fatal passion. Then her thought wan- 
dered to the time when she had knelt in fervent 
prayer before the great white Virgin in the ora- 
tory in her garden. She had at least come out 
victorious from that conflict. It had needed but 


i6o Thy Name is Woman, 

a glance from Prosper’s eyes to chase away the 
temptation then. And now all was over — all 
lost ! 

Well, she had made her bed and she must lie in 
it. The sweet voices that used once to sing in her 
heart were silenced forever. There was no use in 
hoping. Instead of complaining of hard fate, it 
was her business to laugh at it. Curses were fitter 
for her lips than prayers. 

She was not to blame, anyway. Did she know 
what she was about when she took the fatal step ? 
She had been driven by some invisible force — had 
she not ? Then she remembered what the old 
people had said in her childhood when she had 
thrown the melted tin into the face of the poor 
sleeping dog. Yes, she was a natural when she 
was a child. But now — the lady of to-day — she 
who had driven a good man to despair and delib- 
erately abandoned her child — ah, that one, that 

Big-Purse ” who was even now revelling in an 
unhallowed love, she was unworthy of forgiveness 
— she was eternally damned. 

Then why pray 

Her poor muddled brain and conscience were 
unable to see the truth — the light of salvation. 
Again she plunged into her life of excitement, a 
sneer for the foolish fears that had terrified her 
curling the red of her lip. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


i6i 


♦ 

\ 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Rose began to find life very dull. She was 
tired of theatres, of balls, of driving to the Bois. 
Nothing amused her. So, to relieve the monot- 
ony of her existence, De Villemont projected a 
little supper at a private hotel on the Boulevard 
Saint Germain. The guests were to be, besides 
herself and George, two young friends of the 
Count’s, actresses at the Boufifes-Parisiennes, and, 
last but not least, the redoubtable Moulineau, 
who was in town for the Christmas holidays. 
Midnight was the hour named for the banquet, to 
which the young actresses came direct from the 
theatre just as they were, in their theatrical cos- 
tumes. 

Alice, the younger, was a very pretty girl, with 
a Grecian nose, pink nostrils, a mouth like a rose, 
and peachy cheeks which Nature had left nothing 
in the way of freshness and color to desire. She 
was dressed in a page’s costume, with a satin 
doublet, velvet mantle and trunks, and silk tights 
all of a delicate blue. Her heavy black hair, rich 
and purple, like bunches of Prince Rupert grapes, 
hung down her back to her waist. 


1 62 


Thy Name is Woman. 


“ As pretty as the devil/ murmured De Ville- 
mont as he surveyed her, not minding the jealous 
glances of his mistress, Leah, who was clad in a 
long crimson velvet robe, with a particularly rak- 
ish-looking Tryolean hat surmounting her too- 
golden and too curly locks. 

Rose gazed upon the actresses with interest, 
and, becoming quickly acquainted with them, lis- 
tened, marvelling, to their stories of stage life and 
to the scandals of the coulisses which they had 
at their tongues’ end. Becoming gradually 
warmed up by the tone of their conversation, she 
permitted herself to toss off a glass of the iced 
champagne. This made her head spin and un- 
loosened her own tongue. She laughed and 
joked, and made no demur when Leah proposed 
to dress her hair in a more stylish manner. 

Moulineau was in high feather, partly at 
meeting Loudois and Rose and partly at the ex- 
cellence of the cooking and the abundance of the 
wine. The glou-glou of the bottle as the cham- 
pagne foamed out of it into the Pouter’s glass was 
not more unctuous than were that worthy’s laugh 
and the smack of his lips after he had emptied his 
goblet. Presently the wine began to heat his 
blood. Drops of perspiration stood upon his 
brow. With these the poetry and melody of the 
band-master’s nature began to exude also. He 
permitted himself to warble a verse of an old 
drinking-song : 


Thy Name is Woman. 


163 


When the wine goes to my head 
And my brain begins to swim, 

I see pearls and rubies red 
Sailing round the beaker’s brim.” 


Bumper followed bumper in rapid succession. 
Before emptying each glass Moulineau would 
apostrophize its contents as follows : 

'' O wine, enter into the stomach of your re- 
deemer ; don’t do him any more harm than he 
wishes you ; and above all squeeze yourself closely 
together, for there’s a lot more coming.” 

Each repetition of this speech was greated with 
" peals of laughter from the three young women. 
From time to time the band-master would go and 
survey himself in the glass and pronounce the 
apostrophe so well remembered in Saint Cyprian : 

‘'O Nature, two inches more and thy handi- 
work would be perfect !” 

Well, dear,” said George to Rose, when the 
festivities were at their height, you don’t regret 
the stale old life at Saint Cyprian ?” 

I should say not. What a lovely evening !’* 
We’ll have many of them.” 

De Villemont, seated between Leah and Alice, 
rallied Moulineau. Finally the latter got up from 
his chair, a drunken leer in his eye and a drunken 
look in his neck-tie, which had slipped round under 
one ear. Addressing Rose, he said. 

More fun here than at Saint Cyprian, eh. 
Mad — hie — Madame Parent ?” 


164 


Thy Name is Woman. 


“ What does he say?” asked Alice. 

Oh, don’t mind him,” whispered Rose ; he 
is tight.” 

Ma’me Parent,” continued the Pouter, you 
’member your Christmas-party last year. Funny 
people, all those, eh ? There was your papa Berias 
an’ mamma Janette and — ” 

Shut up !” exclaimed George, reddening. 

“ Don’t you want me t’ go on, Georgie? Then 
you oughtn’t to have invited me — see ? When I’m 
drunk 1 must talk. Then there was old Faure, 
an’ Judge Cornet who sang the Christmas carol, 
and your mamma and papa, George, and my lady’s 
husband, poor Proshper.” 

“ Ladies, don’t believe a word the brute says,” 
cried George, raging. “ He’s mad. He needs a 
strait-jacket.” 

“ In Heaven’s name !” whispered Rose, pulling 
the drunken man’s sleeve. 

Shut up, Rose,” roared Pouter, or I’ll give 
’em the whole story. I haven’t any .secrets, me, 
among friends — see ? Then ’er’ was a lill Chris’mas 
baby. You wan’ed to send ’er to bed ; she wouldn’ 
go day-day. Tha’ was Andree, eh ? Ma’me Pa — 
Parent’s lill girl. Oh, a cherub who stared at the 
moon.” 

And Moulineau warbled sonorously, 

“ Have you seen the moon. 

My kid ? 

Have you seen the moon ?” 


Thy Name is Woman, 165 

Alice and Leah began to stare. Rose felt her- 
self sinking through the floor with mortification. 
The band-master, emboldened by the consterna- 
tion he had produced continued his gabbling, stop- 
ping from time to time to chant lugubriously, 

Have you seen the moon, 

My kid ? 

Have you seen the moon ?” 

Ladies, I have an idea!” exclaimed De Ville- 
mont, thinking to create a diversion, at the same 
time shaking his head at Moulineau. 

'' Yon got an idea?” mumbled the latter, drunk- 
enly. '^Well, go set on it. P’raps it’ll hatch.” 

‘‘Shut up, you wind-bag,” hissed the Count in 
Pouter’s ear, “or I’ll let daylight through you !” 

The band-master, somewhat sobered by De Vil- 
lemont’s manner, fell into his seat and relapsed 
into silence. The latter continued : 

“If George won’t mind, Madame Rose, suppose 
you change costumes with Alice. You can do it 
in the ladies’ dressing-room. It’ll be good prac- 
tice for the approaching masked ball at Saint 
Mole’s.” 

Rose looked at George. 

“ If you wish to,” he said ; and thought, “ She’ll 
look pretty enough to eat.” 

The three young women went out laughing and 
presently returned with Rose transformed into a 
pretty, a very pretty, page. She walked boldh' 
up to the pier-glass, but the moment she caught 


1 66 Thy Name is Woinan, 

sight of herself in it she uttered a cry and placed 
her hands over her face. Then she ran to the 
corner where the ladies’ wraps were piled on a 
chair, and pulling her cloak from under the heap, 
covered her legs with it. The others greeted her 
efforts at concealment with shrieks of laughter. 
The Pouter advanced, wiping his lips elaborately. 

“ Dam’me,” he said, you are very pretty, Ma’me 
Parent. You must kiss your little papa.” 

He advanced his cheek to receive the salute, 
but Rose, enraged at his impudence and at his 
imprudent conduct, struck it a sharp blow with 
the palm of her hand and rushed from the room. 
The two actresses followed her into the ladies’ 
dressing-room, whence could be heard smothered 
shrieks of laughter as the young women ex- 
changed garments again. 

Moulineau’s principal purpose in coming to 
Paris had been to find Rose and to declare his 
passion for her. The old beau had been some- 
what put out on hearing the news of Rose’s elope- 
ment. That Madame Parent, after having rejected 
his addresses, could have given herself to another— 
it was amazing. But he complacently thought 
that a woman never stops at one lover. That 
night of the supper, which had been little less 
than an orgy, assured him that the so-called 
Madame de Magnac was disposed to be rapid. 
All that was needed was a little management on 
his part. He was sure to arrive. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


167 


Accordingly the next day he called upon Rose 
to talk over, as he said, Saint Cyprian affairs. 
The women down there were gossiping so scan- 
dalously about the runaways. He had defended 
her with all his might and main, for his part. 

George had gone out with De Villemont, and 
Rose, who thought it best to be politic, received 
the band-master graciously, alone. Moulineau’s 
first performance was to press his lips warmly 
upon Rose’s hand as she sat leaning back in her 
easy chair. 

“ Please don’t,” the young woman exclaimed. 
Whereupon the. Pouter let go. Rose edged away 
from him. 

‘‘Jolly evening last night, eh ?” was Moulineau’s 
first remark. “ Pretty women too, eh ? Are you 
fond of actresses ?” 

And again he seized her hand, which she once 
more pulled away from him with some difficulty. 

“ How beautiful you are !” 

“ Monsieur Moulineau !” exclaimed Rose, laugh- 
ing. 

“ Oh, there is no Monsieur Moulineau,” he ex- 
claimed. “ There is only a man who loves you — 
adores you.” 

“ I beg of you, stop,” said Rose, getting up. 
“ I am not used to such conduct. Oh, I was 
wrong. You are only joking, as you did at Saint 
Cyprian. But it is naughty of you to scare me 


Thy Name is Woman. 


i68 

Oh, I love you !” 

What, again T 

Yes, again and always/’ 

‘‘ Sir, I beseech you — ” 

O Rose !” 

If you don’t stop. I’ll scream,” said Rose, get- 
ting angry. 

“ Oh, come, pretty one, no nonsense. That 
was all right when you were Madame Parent. 
But now — ” 

“ Well, and now ?” 

“You are mine.” 

“'Yours? I?” 

“ Yes, I tell you. Why not ? Ain’t I a man — 
as good as another? As good as your Loudois ? 
Listen. It is for your sake — for yours alone — that 
I have come to Paris. One kiss, Rose?” 

“ I loathe you.” 

“ You loathe me — me, son of Lucien Moulineau ! 
Loathed by Berias’s daughter — the ‘ Big-Purse ’?” 

“You are insolent. Go.” 

“ No, I won’t go. You can ring if you choose. 
I’ll speak before your servants. A wretch who 
leaves her child like a lost parcel ; a hussy who 
will die some day like a dog on a dung-heap.” 

“You are a coward and an idiot. You disgust 
me.” 

“Oh, I disgust you? You loathe me? It won't 
be long before I find you dying of hunger on the 
public streets. Get out, you hussy !” 


Thy Name is Woman, 169 

Moulineau was sweating with rage. Rose stood 
looking at him fixedly. 

“Yes,” she said coldly, “I will give myself to 
the first comer if I have to. But never to you.” 

“We shall see, you she-devil.” 

“Oh, Fm not afraid of you. You may say 
what you please down there at Saint Cyprian — 
that I am a woman of the town, a nymph of the 
pave — what you will \ but you will not be able to 
boast of me yourself. Monsieur Moulineau.” 

“ That is your last word ?” 

“ It is.” 

“ Then look out. You’ll hear something drop.” 

“ I despise you.” 

“ Ah-ha! you turn up your nose at me.^ You 
play the prude with me? Very well. Look out 
for me.” 

He departed, raging. Some days afterwards 
one of the most widely read papers in the city 
contained an account of the scandalous goings-on 
of Madame de Magnac. Loudois was in despair. 

“Who was the coward who wrote it?” he ex- 
claimed. 

“That coward — yes, coward is the word — 
Pouter.” 

“ Moulineau ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ The scoundrel !” 

A few weeks after Rose met her libeller on the 
street. She had sent away her carriage and was 


170 Thy Name is Woman. 

going into a shop to make some purchases. She 
was alone when she saw the Pouter lounging 
along, admiring himself in the shop- windows. 
The blood flew to her head, and her eyes watered 
with rage. The old wild instincts which had 
been softened by education awoke in her. She 
stripped off her gloves and dashed at Moulineau, 
sinking her fingers in his beard, his hair, his 
cheeks. He, blinded by the terrible scratching 
she gave him, bellowed like a calf. 

Oh, if you were not a woman 
Yes,'’ she panted fiercely, I am a woman 
whom you have insulted. I acted like a meek 
and humble creature when you threatened me 
with my husband’s anger. Now I have a lover. 
I will have ten if I choose. But you? Never, 
never ! Do you hear me ?” 

And she sprung upon him as she had been 
wont to spring upon her playmates in her child- 
hood days. Moulineau’s cheeks were terribly 
lacerated. Rose’s little fingers were like claws. 
He, unable to get away from her, began to cry 
for help. A crowd gathered around them. 
Some men seized the Pouter. Whereupon Rose 
calmed down at once and completely. 

This man has insulted me,” she said quietly, 
and I beat him. He is a scoundrel.” 

So saying, she made her way proudly and coolly, 
through the open-mouthed throng, and had dis- 


Thy Name is Woman, 171 

appeared from sight* before Moulineau could col- 
lect his scattered senses and have her arrested. 

A month from that day Rose was the mistress 
of Count Berk de Villemont. George Loudois 
had suddenly become disenchanted. The life he 
was leading disgusted him. He wrote a humble 
letter to his father, begging him to intercede in 
his behalf with Marie. He was, he said, filled 
with shame and contrition. He had been mad, 
but he had waked from his troubled dream. 
Would his wife have pity on him and take him 
back, after the deadly blow he had inflicted on 
her faith and affection ? 

The elder Madame Loudois repaired imme- 
diateiy to the Bastides and conferred with Marie’s 
aunt. Madame Varennes was delighted at the 
news. The young wife was like to faint with joy 
when she learned that her still idolized husband 
was about to return to her, tender and repentant. 
It was arranged that the reunited couple should 
abandon Saint Cyprian forever and take up their 
residence in Nice. 

^‘The sight of that poor lonely Monsieur Pa- 
rent makes me heart-sick,” said the young wife, 
eager to forget the past and escape from every- 
thing that might remind her of it. 

De Villemont, in the mean while, devoted him- 
self passionately to his new mistress. Rose, on 


172 


Thy Name is Woman, 


her part, was disposed to congratulate herself that 
she was now the property of a real man of the 
world-^a true Parisian. She expected soon to be 
initiated into the dark secrets of political life. A 
new existence' opened out before her. To pre- 
pare herself for her new role she gave up novel- 
reading and began to devote herself to the study 
of history and current politics. The member, on 
his side, gave up his other mistresses, his clubs, 
and even stock-gambling. 

‘‘Your nephew is going mad,’' said some one 
to the cabinet minister. 

“ I don’t blame him,” returned the old politi- 
cian, smiling grimly. “I’d like to be able to go. 
mad that way, myself.” 

Rose gradually became a person of importance. 
At Saint Cyprian her relations with the member 
for the district became known, and Moulineau’s 
gossip had revealed her address. Letters began 
to pour in upon her from the constituency. To- 
day some one wanted a tobacco-license; to-mor- 
row a civil servant clamored for promotion ; day 
after to-morrow some petty placeman desired to 
have his perquisites increased. Her mails were 
full of demands for charitable and church dona- 
tions. As Madame de Magnac wished to return 
favorable replies to all her petitioners, the poor 
Count was kept running from one executive de- 
partment to another. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


173 


It seems to me you are the member instead 
of me/’ he said to Rose one day, laughingly. 

Rose drove to the Chamber often with her 
lover. The private entrance,” the Countess (as 
she came to be called) would proclaim with the 
air of a grande dame. Whereupon the ushers 
would bow obsequiously, tittering in their sleeves. 
She urged De Villemont to devote himself to his 
political duties, and it was due to her entreaties 
that the Saint Cyprian member was now often 
on his legs in debiite. 

‘^Oh, if you knew how proud I am of you, 
Villemont !” she would exclaim, with glittering 
eyes. 

Perhaps you will make something of me yet, 
eh, Rose ?” 

A minister — nothing less will satisfy me;” and 
she would give him one of her adorable kisses. 
“You must be a minister. But I am afraid for 
the cause. The Emperor has not sufficient grasp. 
The opposition is growing in strength ckiy by 
day.” 

Her dream was to be received at the Tuileries. 
What, after all, could they say of her? Mouli- 
neau’s malicious stories were by this time forgot- 
ten. She would appear at court as Berk’s cousin, 
the widowed Countess de Magnac. Nobody would 
suspect what their real relations were. Finally, 
De Villemont, who could not withstand her en- 
treaties, procured for her the desired honor, and 


174 


Thy Name is Woman, 


she had the extreme felicity of bowing before the 
Empress Eugenie at one of the last and most 
brilliant balls of the winter of 1870, the year of 
the cataclysm. 

One day in Rose’s mail-bag there appeared a 
letter directed in a crabbed handwriting which 
was not unknown to the Countess de Magnac. 

Ha!*' she said, '' it is from mamma.” 

The letter was as follows : 

My dear Daughter : Mr. Victor Moulineau, 
who has just come back from the city, has given 
me your address. I am very glad, because I 
would rather tell you about ourselves in my own 
way than to have to go to that dressmaker Lu- 
cette, whom, by the way, you had better not trust 
too much. 

'Hn the first place,they say George Loudois has 
made it up with his wife, and they have gone to 
live at Nice. We don’t hear anything from you, 
and your father and I are much worried about 
you. We are longing to see you come back into 
the right path again. Have pity on us, and come 
back to your home. Now that the Loudois are 
gone, everything can be arranged. 

They say you have lovers in the city and that 
you are acting badly. You ought not to make 
us suffer from this disgrace any longer, for the 
Beriases have always been respectable, and so have 
my folks, the Grignons. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


175 


Your husband is very unhappy. The village 
is gloomy. We are out with nearly everybody 
in the place, to say nothing of the fact that old 
Bridget, the cow, took cold the other day and is 
dying. I suffer more than I ever did before, my 
dear daughter. I would never have thought to 
see you do such a thing. You must have been 
tempted by some of those ladies with whom you 
went at Saint Cyprian. I hate very much to say 
these things to you, but I speak true. 

“ Come back — if not for our sakes. Rose, then 
for little Andr^e’s. You know she thinks you 
are dead. Come back, Rose. Your father and I 
will meet you at the station. You can live with 
us, and no one will be the wiser. I am getting 
old fast. What has happened during the past 
year has taken the courage out of me. You were 
cruel to do what you did. 

I pray God and the Virgin to make you see 
your duty. Your father and I and little Andree 
kiss you amid our tears. 

^^Your mother, who loves you and who will 
love you always, 

'' Janette Berias, n^e Grignon.” 

A letter from your mother? asked Berk. 

What does the worthy woman say 

Nothing.'’ 

How does she say nothing in so many 
words ?” 


176 Thy Name is Woman. 

Oh, she wants me to come back home.” 

And you?” 

Tm not going.” 

Good.” 

^^Yes. ril stay with you. But on one condi- 
tion — I must see my daughter next summer.” 

“ You shall,” 

How good you are, dear ! Do you know a 
mother ought to have a good deal of sympathy.” 

She said this so sweetly and simply that the 
Count felt moved. 

Rose,” he said, you can always count upon 
me. I love you very dearly. Neither George nor 
even your husband appreciated you as I do. You 
are my idol. Oh, if death would but release me !” 

Hush, Berk, you must not think of that. It 
is not right. Listen. Life has always seemed to 
me like a game of chance. Look at me. I have 
plunged headlong into a life of pleasure and 
shame. Sometimes I have thought that it was 
useless to reflect upon one's actions, because every- 
thing was predestined. But then, again, I have 
other moods in which I fear some terrible pun- 
ishment for my sins—when I have dreadful pre- 
sentiments.” 

“ I was wrong,” said De Villemont, gravely, 
to speak so of death. But I should love to in- 
troduce you to the world as my lawful wife. 
When I am near you, dear, I think no longer of 
the disgrace cast upon me by the woman who 


Thy Name is Woman. 


m 


bears my name. My contempt for her is dissi- 
pated in your presence. For your sake I forget 
and forgive.'’ 

Taking her small head in his hands as she 
stood beside him, he pressed a long kiss upon her 
lips. She shivered slightly and disengaged her- 
self. 

No, Berk, no. Not that,” she murmured. 

My love must not be an obstacle to your 
career. You would have me love you with my 
whole heart, would you not? You would have 
me destroy all the memories of my life? I will. 
I will, gladly. I will know only you hencefor- 
ward. But I must be proud of you. You have an 
illustrious name ; you must not tarnish it. You 
must succeed. What is life but a struggle — a 
long fight for success ? Oh, how I could love you 
if you once fought your way into the cabinet ! 
How I could worship[a powerful minister ! George 
and Prosper were commonplace men, content to 
be lost in the vulgar herd. But thy place, Ville- 
mont, is in the front rank of battle. Courage, 
my hero, courage !” 

She pressed his hands nervously in an access 
of enthusiasm, and continued : 

How beautiful they are, those visions. Glory 
and Power! To see men and women bend the 
neck before one — to have a hand that can scourge 
with sorrow or bring blessings and peace as one 
chooses. Oh, how I could worship a man who 


178 


Thy Name is Woman, 


could give these things to me ! Work, work, my 
friend. I shall be at your side to sustain, to en- 
courage. It is not sufficient that a woman love a 
man. She must be proud of him also. She must 
be able to share his hopes and his tears. That is 
why I left my home and its commonplace mo- 
notony. They were killing me. I wanted to live, 
not to vegetate. My existence was passing away 
smoothly and calmly. Nothing happened. I 
had nothing to fear and nothing to hope for. 
What was I ? First the wife of a country notary, 
then the mistress of a plebeian whose money 
smelt of trade. Oh, I was foolish, mad, insen- 
sate ! But with you, Villemont, how life has 
changed ! I live in a different world — a world of 
pov/er, of pride, of fame, of glory; You are my 
god. And you must make me feel that I am 
worthy to be the mistress of a god. O Ville- 
mont, I would see- all these women — these women 
of our world — cringing, crawling before me, their 
hearts running over with envy at my happiness.’' 

And Rose, half hysterical from the sudden in- 
tensity of her desires, threw herself sobbing into 
her lover’s arms. The Count looked down upon 
her suffused eyes and working features. A look 
of amusement glimmered in his eyes for a single 
instant. Then he stooped and kissed her. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


179 


CHAPTER XV. 

Madame de Magnac received on Wednesday 
evenings. On these occasions her handsome 
apartment in the Rue Saint-Honor^ was crowded 
with men known in the worlds of politics, of letters, 
and of art, all of whom were more or less intimate 
at court or belonged at least to the Imperial 
party. To be sure, the lady’s affectations of man- 
ner and speech, her ignorance of polite society, 
and her inordinate luxury were the occasion for 
much quiet amusement on the part of her guests. 
But the nephe\^ of the most powerful politician 
in France was the master of the establishment, 
and this sufficed. Berk’s ornamental stories about 
his fair cousin’s antecedents were received with 
complaisance, if not with full credence. 

The member from Saint Cyprian did not care 
much about these entertainments himself. In 
fact they bored him. But he was so much in 
love with Rose that he could deny her nothing. 
Besides, the young woman never lost an oppor- 
tunity of impressing upon him the duty of moving 
about in the world and making friends among the 
political element. This was as good a way to 
augment his popularity as any, perhaps. So he 


i8o Thy Name is Woman. 

lent himself to his mistress’s plans with a sufhcient 
degree of equanimity. One evening he entered 
her room with a mysterious air. 

‘^What is it?” she demanded, looking into his 
eyes. 

I have a pleasant surprise for you.” 

^'Oh, quick, tell me!” 

At your next reception I shall introduce you 
to a prince.” 

A real one ?” 

Yes.” 

Who?” 

“ His Royal Highness, Prince Rene, heir to the 
Archduchy of Hesse-Wolfenbuttel.” 

'‘Oh!” exclaimed Rose, her eyes shining, “are 
you sure he’ll come ?” 

“ I am to meet him that evening at my uncle’s 
at dinner. He will accompany me here after- 
wards.” 

“ Oh, how delightful !” 

And the former peasant-girl spent the next 
few days in dreams of royal conquest. 

On the following Wednesday evening, sure 
enough, the Count presented the German prince to 
his mistress. The latter was a tall man of middle 
age, with a large forehead, flaxen hair, and light 
blue eyes. He had lived in France for many years, 
and was more or less well known to the majority 
of the assembled guests. After the prince had 
*paid his first compliments to the lady of the 


Thy Name is lVo7na?t. i8i 

house, a number of these gathered round the 
two and the conversation became general. Pres- 
ently it took a political turn. The liberal tenden- 
cies which threatened the empire and the relations 
between France and Germany were discussed. 
The prince declared that such a thing as war 
between the two empires was impossible, and 
proceeded to pronounce a panegyric upon the 
French nation, its emperor, its institutions, and 
its morals which caused a delighted old senator 
to exclaim enthusiastically, 

Your highness, you are one of the best French- 
men I know.” 

Presently the conversation drifted round to the 
subject of the citizen's duty. At this point Rose 
addressed herself to the great man, lifting her 
downcast eyes to his in an adorably hesitating way. 

I want to ask you something, my lord,” she 
said. 

The prince bowed gallantly. 

I wish your opinion upon a point my cousin 
and I were discussing the other day. I said — 
and don't you think I am right ? — that it is the 
duty of man to be ambitious and to go out into the 
world and fight for power, while it is woman’s 
province to remain in the sanctity of her home, 
encouraging her lord and master by her counsel 
and aiding him by her prayers. She should be 
his reward after victory — is it not true?” 

“ Perfectly, madame, perfectly,” exclaimed the 


1 8-2 Thy Name is Woman. 

prince, captivated by the air of Oriental submission 
that pervaded her manner as well as her thought. 

Every man should be ambitious, especially 
those who are blessed with birth, brains, and 
fortune. No man can stand still. A people that 
does not conquer — it is strange but true — is a 
people conquered. If a man does not grow taller 
he will surely grow shorter.’' 

Ah, my lord,” said a famous old journalist 
who stood near, if all princes were but like you !” 

Thank you for the implied compliment,” said 
the great man, graciously. But, my friend, I do 
not think there are any bad princes, at least not 
in Europe. For the rest of the world I cannot 
answer.” 

This little sally was greeted with its assured 
modicum of complaisant laughter, and then the 
conversation became general again. 

The day after the reception Prince Ren6 called 
at two o’clock in the afternoon. Rose was alone 
in her drawing-room. The conversation of the 
evening before was resumed, and presently took 
a tender turn. 

In France,” said the duke, ^‘they don’t know 
what love means. It is a flame too quickly lighted 
and as easily extinguished. It is like the light- 
ning which ‘ doth cease to be ere one can say. It 
lightens.’ Men love easily, but as easily forget. 
With us it is different. We do not give ourselves 
so easily, but we /emember longer. And by the 


Thy Name is Woman, 


183 


bye, dear mardame, as I am going to leave Paris 
soon, I have brought a little present that I hope 
will aid to keep me in your remembrance/’ 

* He took from his pocket a handsome jeweh 
casket. 

“ This is the work of Samuel, the most famous 
jeweller in my realm,” he said. There is not 
another necklace like it in Europe, and yet it is 
scarcely worthy of you. You are so beautiful.” 

‘‘ My lord— I—” 

‘‘ Madame, I love you. I loved you the first 
moment my dazzled eyes beheld your beautiful 
face. Could you not read in my eyes how it was 
with me? My peerless one, come to me.” 

He kneeled at her side, and her head sunk on 
his breast. The peasant-girl felt a new rapture. 
It seemed to her as if these caresses which were 
showered upon her face, her neck, her hair were 
the first kisses of her life, such was their strange 
charm. 

^‘You will come to me in Germany,” he was 
whispering in her ear. ‘‘ You shall have a palace. 
We will be so happy.” 

My lord — ” 

Don’t call me so. Call me ‘ Ren6.’ ” 

When De Villemont returned from the Cham- 
ber that afternoon he found his mistress plunged 
in rosy dreams. Cuddled up on a sofa. Rose 
scarce heard her lover’s step as he entered. And 


1 84 Thy Name is Woman, 

when he kissed her forehead and murmured a few 
tender words in her ear, she shut her eyes and 
tried to imagine that it was still the passionate 
and florid language of the prince to which she 
listened. As in a vision she saw herself at a royal 
court, the mistress en titre powerful and terrible, 
the envy of women, the adored of men. Already 
she beheld her own name writ down in the lists 
of love’s queens alongside those of La Vallifere, 
Pompadour, and Du Barry. 

Prince Ren6 was here just now,” she sighed, 
rousing herself. 

Ah, indeed !” 

He wants you to go to the Bois with him.” 

Yes, I told him I’d go.” 

‘‘ He is going away soon. See what a present 
he brought me.” 

Superb !” 

A royal gift, isn’t it ?” 

Yes, he gave one like that to — ” 

“ What ?” 

'' Oh — er — nothing.” 

'' Yes. You said, ‘ He gave one like that to — ’ ” 

Oh — er — yes — to the Duchess de Lornani, the 
Emperor’s cousin.” 

‘‘ You are lying.” 

a I 

Yes, you. Stop now. Berk, tell me true ; to 
whom did the prince give a necklace like this ?” 

“ Oh, what difference does it make to you ?” 


Thy Name is WomaiL 


185 


Never mind ; I wish to know.” 

‘‘Well, then — to little Clenery.” 

“ The Duke de Lengues’ mistress?” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ Then,” exclaimed Rose, reddening with an- 
ger, “ all I have to say is that your prince is a 
person of no manners, and this is how I treat his 
present — the German blackguard !” 

Tears of vexation suffused her eyes as she threw 
the necklace into the fireplace. 

“ Rose !” 

“ I suppose I can do what I please with what is 
my own.” 

“ Of course. But if the prince knew !” 

“You can tell the prince from me that he is a 
boor and, what is more, a Prussian spy.” 

“ You are crazy. Prince Rene loves France.” 

“ Do you think so ? Well, you’re a ninny, that’s 
all. 

With this she began to laugh frantically. Then 
she cried. After which she laughed and cried to- 
gether. 

“ You will make yourself sick, my darling.” 

“ Villemont,” sobbed Rose, “you may tell his 
Royal Highness from me that I understand his 
game. He is a spy, I tell you. You are all fooled 
by him. Ah ! he treats me like a dancer, like a 
Clenery, like a common prostitute. Oh, if I had 
known !” 

“ Well ?” 


Thy Name is Woman, 


1 86 


I would have spit in his face and told him to 
carry that to his master, Bismarck. I am only a 
woman, a peasant, but I can see further through 
a ladder than any of you. I tell you they are 
taking your measure. But you don’t care, as long 
as you can lick a prince’s boots.” 

My dear little girl, don’t excite yourself so. 
The prince did wrong. But I have got you a 
present that has no mate, I assure you.” 

And that evening when a magnificent parure 
of diamonds made its appearance peace was re- 
stored once more in the family. Rose amused 
herself by piling up the number of errands the 
member was to run for his constituents the next 
day. 

‘‘ Do you know. Rose,” he said at last, good- 
naturedly, that I believe you have made my 
election sure ?” 

Oh,” said the young woman, laughing mer- 
rily, I understand they mean to break my back 
down there when I come home again. But never 
mind. I love the furrow in which I was born. 
Berias’s daughter is a good girl when all’s said.” 

My uncle told me the other day that he was 
very well pleased with me. I never stop begging. 
It seems that is the business of the true repre- 
sentative. By the way, have you answered your 
mother’s letter yet ?” 

No. I don’t want any more nonsense from 


Thy Name is Woman, 187 

her. Lucette keeps me informed. Andree is 
well and pretty. That's all I care to know.” 

‘‘ And your husband?” 

“ Always the same, poor man. Oh, let’s talk 
of something else. Whenever I think of Saint 
Cyprian it gives me the blue-devils.” 

They talked for a long time that evening, and 
before going to bed Villemont had come to the 
conclusion that the prince really was a suspicious 
character, and that as for Rose, she was really a 
very shrewd little woman. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


1 88 


CHAPTER XVI. 

One of the persons whom Madame de Magnac 
had assisted with her political influence was a 
certain widow Belloir, a former resident of Saint 
Cyprian, who had been much reduced in circum- 
stances since the death of *her husband, and now 
lived with her bedridden sister in Paris. Rose 
had secured for this poor woman a license to set 
up a tobacco-stand, which was the same as assur- 
ing her a comfortable livelihood. In return for 
this favor she had gone to Saint Cyprian at the 
instance of her benefactress, and made an effort 
to secure the custody of Andree, so as to bring 
her to Paris to her mother’s arms. But the no- 
tary had threatened her with arrest if she did not 
go about her business. Enraged both at the ill- 
success of her mission and at Prosper’s threats, 
she had taken some pains to inform herself about 
his affairs, and on returning to Paris had told a 
most dismal tale of his approaching ruin. But 
this, instead of pleasing Rose, as the widow had 
supposed it would, had awakened in her the live- 
liest sympathy. When the Count made his ap- 
pearance that evening. Rose went to him at once, 
exclaiming. 


Thy Name is Woman. i8g 

“ O my friend, I’m so glad you’ve come. I 
need your aid. I am a wretched, wretched wo- 
man. I must have a lot of money.” 

Ho, ho ! more diamonds ? Well, I saw such 
a — ” 

No — not that' — My husband is a bankrupt, 
or will be if something Is not done at once.” 

Your husband ? Poor fellow !” 

We mus’nt let the grass grow under our 
feet. There are but twenty-five thousand francs 
in the house. Til send that at once. Then — ” 

But will he take it ?” 

Why not ?” 

‘‘ Well, you see — he might — ” 

“Oh, never fear. He won’t be squeamish.” 

When Prosper received Rose’s letter and be- 
came aware of its contents, he quietly placed them 
both in an envelope, wrote Rose’s address upon 
it, and sent it at once to the post-office. 

“The woman who bears my name, Clapier,” he 
said to the old clerk, “has just spit in my face.” 

Meanwhile the inhabitants of Saint Cyprian 
were in a great state of mind. 

“ Have you heard the news?” 

“ What>” 

“ Parent is on the verge of bankruptcy.” 

“The devil! Well, I feared it.” 

A failure in a small town is like a public mis- 
fortune. The inhabitants are like mourners at a 
funeral. What banker, merchant, or business 


190 


Thy Name is Woman, 


man of any sort does not wake quaking from a 
dream which pictures him as failed, ruined, with a 
furious crowd of creditors clamoring at his doors? 
How he shudders at the dejected faces, the mute 
agony, the sobs and the despairing cries that pro- 
claim him — him, the bankrupt — the curse, the 
ruin of his native town. 

Saint Cyprian will long remember the profound 
sensation produced by the failure of Prosper 
Parent. It was a thunderbolt, with this difference : 
it was not the altitudes alone that felt the stroke. 
His clients had had an unbounded confidence in 
him. For this reason Prosper had hoped that, by 
dint of hard work and economy, he might yet re- 
pair his fortunes. He had taken the deposits of 
the poorest people as well as those of the rich. 
He paid the interest regularly and promptly. 
So the peasants, the workingmen, the domestic 
servants, all the poorest people of the town had 
been glad to have him — had ej^n begged him to — 
take charge of their scanty savings. 

At last the notary perceived that he could put 
off the evil day no longer — the deluge had come. 
After having paid Rose's debts and the bills 
accepted by her, he found his credit exhausted 
and put up his shutters. He faced ruin quite as 
coolly as he would have faced the death which he 
longed for. It was Saturday and a market-day 
when he suspended payment. 


Thy Name is Woman. 19 1 

It was three o’clock in the afternoon. From 
the street ascended the hoarse cries of the haw- 
kers, the rumbling of the heavy trucks and wagons, 
and the other thousand and one sounds of which 
a city’s noise is composed. The cattle-market had 
about finished its business. Here and there might 
be seen a peasant driving before him a scared 
sheep or a calf, the poor animal making desperate 
endeavors to escape into some alley-way or stable. 
Country housewives were making their way home- 
wards in little knots, complacently counting the 
small gains arising from their traffic in chickens 
and eggs. 

All of a sudden a commotion was noticeable in 
one corner of the market-place. A man could be 
seen jesticulating wildly. It was a shoemaker 
named Buisson. 

What’s the matter?” asked a number of voices. 

The scoundrel ! the thief !” yelled the shoe- 
maker. It was only yesterday he took my 
money. Hell and damnation ! we are all ruined !” 

What is it ?” cried the crowd, becoming ex- 
cited. 

Parent has closed.” 

The shoemaker had just learned the terrible 
news from some farmers who had gone to the 
notary’s house to draw out some money. Im- 
mediately a great uproar ensued. The hoarse oaths 
of desperate men mingled with the shrill cries of 


192 


Thy Name is Woman, 


ruined women, to all of whom this failure was a 
catastrophe. Clubs were brandished in the air, 
and here and there a dreadful threat was uttered. 
Suddenly a hush fell upon the crowd. It was 
occasioned by the arrival of a party of men who 
had come direct from the notary’s house. They 
reported that the shutters were up and the doors 
were locked. All hope that the news of the fail- 
ure might not be true was thus destroyed. The 
effect upon the crowd was terrible; it was as if the 
report, like a lighted train of gunpowder, had led 
to an awful explosion. On every side could be 
seen men and women, their pale features working 
with the bitterness of the thoughts that oppressed 
them, and their eyes blazing with the rage of those 
who have been robbed of their painfully earned 
all. Yells and curses arose on every hand. Old 
women, sobbing, threw themselves into each other's 
arms, and young ones sat down upon the curb- 
stones, rocking their babies in their laps and crying 
pitifully. Presently the charge of embezzlement 
began to be whispered. It ran rapidly through 
the crowd, and a murmur, growing gradually into 
a roar, was heard : 

Death to the embezzler ! Death !” 

“ Let’s sack the house,” cried the shoemaker 
Buisson, who had first brought the news. 

This was greeted by a yell of acclamation. 
Some men, armed with axes, mattocks, and other 


Thy Name is Woman. 


193 


weapons snatched up on the impulse of the 
moment, dashed out of the corner of the market- 
place nearest the notary’s house. The crowd fol- 
lowed in mass. And so these dull, quiet, peac^ 
ful country-folk, turned by their wrongs into an 
insane mob, went raving and bellowing up the 
street like a herd of maddened bulls. 

Ar>rived in front of the house, they at once at- 
tacked the door of the office. This, not being 
constructed to resist a siege, was straightway 
knocked into kindling-wood. The leaders of the 
mob dashed into the room. Prosper stood their 
quietly and waited. He asked nothing better of 
Fate than that he should be at once dispatched 
by the mob. Some one struck him a violent blow 
in the face. 

Kill me,” he said. Only kill me quickly, I 
beg you.” 

Let me smash him, damn him !” cried a hoarse 
voice from the crowd. A burly ruffian stepped 
forward, carrying an axe. It was the giant milled 
of Lameth, the most famous wrestler of the coun- 
try-side. 

But at this moment the notary felt himself 
thrust aside. A lean figure stood between him 
and these men who were thirsting for his blood. 
It was the old clerk Clapier. louring all the forty 
years he had served his present employer and his 
predecessors. Cornet and Boulestan, no one had 


194 


Thy Name is Woman. 


ever seen Clapier lose his temper. He seemed to 
have lost it now, however. He had a double- 
barrelled fowling-piece in his hands, and with this 
he covered the man with the axe.' 

Get out of here,” he said in a smothered tone, 
'' or ril put two of you to sleep for good.” 

The big miller stopped and the front ranks of 
the mob grew quiet. The two hammers of the 
fowling piece clicked ominously. But those be- 
hind, not knowing what was up, continued to yell, 

Death to the embezzler ! death to the bank- 
rupt !” 

I tell you Tm going to smash him,” growled 
the giant, shaking his bull-head as if to reanimate 
his courage. 

I’ll slaughter you as I would a dog if you ad- 
vance a step,” growled Clapier in reply. It was 
mastiff against bull-dog. 

It is probable that the miller would have been 
forced by the crowd behind him to take the fatal 
’’step, in which case he would have doubtless re- 
ceived the promised quietus. But luckily for him, 
and perhaps for the wife and six children at the 
Lameth mill, at this moment a squad of mounted 
police dashed up. The mob dispersed in all 
directions. A number of officers, headed by the 
mayor, forced their way into the room. 

Let all good citizens disperse at once,” said 
that functionary in a tone of authority. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


195 


Death to the bankrupt !” cried the shoemaker 
Buisson. He was at once put under arrest. 

Don’t take him,” cried Prosper. Take me. 
The blame is all mine. Let them kill me.” 

The officers quickly cleared the room. 

‘‘Now, sir,” said their chief, “I have here a 
warrant for your arrest. You will come with me.” 

“ At last !” 

That evening old Judge Cornet called upon the 
notary in his prison-cell. 

“Ah, my friend,” said the young man, much 
moved, “you do not desert me.” 

“ No, my dear fellow, why should I ? I’ve come 
to talk things over with you. What are your lia- 
bilities?” 

“Two hundred thousand francs.” 

“ So much ?” 

“ Oh, I have been a great villain. I have lied ; 
I have kept false books. I am as good as finished. 
Let me go, old friend.” 

“ Nonsense ! Remember your child.” 

“ I do remember her. It is my greatest punish- 
ment.” 

“You must continue to live for her and work 
for her.” 

“Yes. But how?” 

“ My wife and I will see you through this 
trouble.” 


196 Thy Name is Woman, 

'' O my friend, I cannot — I dare not accept 
your aid.” 

Did I refuse your aid when my horse was 
smashing me against that stone wall? This 
morning I used all the influence I had with the 
criminal judge to avoid this arrest and imprison- 
ment. But it was of no avail. The law had to 
be carried out. You’ll have to stand trial. But 
the rest of the affair will arrange itself. I have in 
my box at the bank securities for more than the 
amount of your liabilities. My wife insists that 
they be used to liquidate your debts. What dif- 
ference does it make? You are our heir anyhow. 
You will inherit a little before the time — that’s 
all.” 

“ But I cannot — I cannot.” 

But you shall.” 

At Jarry’s Cross the Parent failure was the 
cause of considerable satisfaction to the envious 
neighbors of Big-Purse.” But the farmer and 
his wife were utterly cast down by it. One even- 
ing Monsieur Faure went out to call at the White 
House. He found the two old people sitting de- 
jectedly in their cheerless kitchen. There was no 
fire on the hearth, although the weather was still 
cold. Francis excused the lack of it on the 
ground of poverty. 


Thy Name is Woman. 


197 


‘^WeVe got to economize now,” said he, looking 
shamefacedly at the merchant. 

“ Tve some good news for you,” said the latter. 

'' What is it?” 

“ Judge Cornet is going to pay Prosper’s debts.” 

‘^We can’t accept that,” interposed Janette. 

It will ruin him. Why, it is more than two 
hundred thousand francs !” 

“ Oh, that wicked girl!” groaned Francis.- “I 
curse the day she was born.” 

Father,” said the old woman, softly. 

Yes, I know, I know. I was wrong. It’s no 
use complaining. And so Jiidge Cornet is going 
to pay Prosper’s debts, eh?” 

Yes; you know he is his adopted son.” 

He’s a good man, is Judge Cornet,” exclaimed 
the old farmer, getting up and dashing one horny 
hand across his dim eyes. “ Well, we’ll help him. 
We’re pretty old to go back to work again. But 
it can’t be helped. I’ll sell my two farms — what’s 
left of ’em, and go back to work on the Trem- 
blade Estate. I guess the young master won’t 
lick me so much as his father used to during the 
ten years I worked for him, forty years ago. Ah ! 
but the little grandchild — what’ll become of her?” 

I’ll look out for her,” said the old merchant. 

Ah, then it seems that no one but it’s mother 
deserts the poor child,” said the old man, sorrow- 


198 


Thy Name is Woman. 


fully glancing at the little one’s cot, which stood 
in one corner of the kitchen. 

“Apropos of Rose,” said Faure, “do you know 
she sent her husband twenty-five thousand francs 
when she heard of the failure Y' 

“ And he ?” 

“ Returned it.” 

“ Of course he did. Did she think he would 
accept the price of her dishonor? Ah, but it is 
we who were to blame — we and that scoundrel 
Loudois, who is living quietly at Nice now. And 
she is amusing herself with our member, they say. 
Just let him come and ask me for my vote. I’ll 
kill him. But, sir, you are a good man — and so is 
Judge Cornet — both good men— good men.” 

Two months afterwards the notary was tried on 
the criminal charge, and acquitted in spite of all 
the damaging evidence brought against him. The 
truth was that since his debts had been paid the 
tide of popular opinion had run strongly and at 
last unanimously in his favor. His misfortunes 
were remembered, and he came to be looked upon 
as a martyr. It is doubtful if in all that country- 
side a jury could have been picked out that would 
have convicted him. After his acquittal he re- 
ceived a popular ovation. Among the most en- 
thusiastic of those who cheered him on that occa- 
sion were observed the miller of Lameth and the 
shoemaker Buisson. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


199 


Within a month from the date of his acquittal, 
Prosper, through the influence of his friends Faure 
and Cornet, was tendered the position of manag- 
ing clerk for a large wine house in Bordeaux. He 
departed at once for the field of his new labors, 
leaving his little daughter, thus so strangely or- 
phaned, to the care of tender friends. 


200 


Thy Name is Woman, 


CHAPTER XVIL 

It IS doubtful whether Madame de Magnac 
ever bestowed a thought upon the man whom 
she and his fate had just brought within the 
shadow of prison walls. It is certain that she 
never forgave him for refusing her offer of assist- 
ance. She intended, as soon as she was settled 
in the villa, near the Bois, which her lover had 
purchased for her, to go to Jarry's Cross and 
bring away Andr^e. 

In the mean while she plunged more furiously 
than ever into dissipation, endeavoring to rival, 
in the luxury of her establishment and the style 
of her entertainments, the most exclusive fashion- 
ables of the city. Still she was not happy. Her 
pleasure in it all was factitious. A bitter yearning 
began to gnaw at her heart. 

Her thoughts dwelt insistently upon her first 
lover, now lost to her forever under the sun- 
kissed trees of Nice. She had never loved any 
one but George ; she could never love any but him 
The Count, on his part, remained gentle and kind, 
but he was no longer the ardent lover who had 


Thy Name is Woman. 20 1 

seduced her from Loudois’ arms. She knew that 
his errant fancy had already been attracted by a 
new dancer at the opera. 

In the midst of all the gayety that made up 
her daily life, Rose constantly found herself sink- 
ing into fits of pensiveness, into regretful memo- 
ries, into melancholy dreams. George’s face rose 
before the eye of her mind, so sad, so dear, so 
distant, and seemed to beckon her as a mirage 
beckons the thirsty traveller in desert wastes. 

Meanwhile in a pretty cottage not far from the 
city of Nice a wee pink baby came to rejoice and 
unite the hearts of^the Loudois’. That spring no 
happier home than theirs existed under all the 
soft blue southern sky. It was a delightful pic- 
ture of amour a trois. When the three had 
wearied of making love to each other in the vine- 
embowered cottage which they called '‘The 
Laurels,” the two elders would take pleasant 
little trips to Monte Carlo or Monaco, where 
they would renew the memories of their bridal 
tour. 

One evening the two were seated on the piazza 
of their house, which was built on high ground 
overlooking the sea. The Mediterranean stretched 
out to the horizon before them, white and dim in 
the pale light of the new moon. They sat quietly 
side by side and hand in hand, wrapped in silence 


202 Thy Name is Woman, 

and surrounded by that atmosphere of virtuous 
love which the young wife’s devotion and single- 
mindedness had made possible to this once 
desolate hearth. Marie was dreaming of the old 
summer days when George, a boy still, used to 
delight to carry her off with him into the depths 
of the wild wood. 

She remembered one evening in particular 
when night had surprised them by the side of a 
great stone cross overgrown with ivy. They were 
alone together amid the darkness that was gradu- 
ally blotting out the footpath they were pursuing. 
The stillness, the gloom, the woodland scents, the 
presence of the dainty child by his side, had com- 
bined to awaken in George for the first time the 
lover’s instinct. As for Marie, a little maid of 
fifteen years, as innocent of evil as a fawn, she, 
for her part, loved her young cousin a good deal 
better than she did her big china doll, which 
had eyes that could open and shut at pleasure, 
which could say mamma ” and papa ” with the 
greatest of ease, and which she was just beginning 
to suspect was beneath her dignity. 

‘‘ Do you remember,” whispered the young 
wife, after calling her husband’s attention to the 
time, how you looked at me when you kissed 
me? How your heart beat — oh, like a hammer! 
And how your eyes shone ! You squeezed me so 


Thy Name is Woman. 


203 


hard that I began to tremble. And when you 
asked me if I was afraid, I said — ” 

“ ‘You said’? By Jove! you kissed me back 
and ran away laughing. It was only after that 
that you began to be afraid.” 

“ Oh yes, I was very much afraid.” 

“Do I remember? Why, you had on a blue 
dress, and a big white hat which we had wreathed 
with flowers. You wore russet boots like a little 
huntress, and, my! how pretty you were! Now 
you are beautiful.” 

“Do you think so?” she asked, trembling with 
pleasure. “ I don’t want to be vain, but you 
don’t know how it delights me when you tell 
me I am beautiful. Your thoughts never 
wander ?” 

“You have cured me of all that, my love,” 
said the young husband, gravely. “ Men get 
insane sometimes. They run away from their 
happiness*.” 

“ Isn’t it sweet,” said Marie, presently, laying 
her head on her husband’s shoulder, “ to feel 
ourselves so near and so alive to each other while 
Nature is sleeping all around us? See, how quiet 
everything is ; hardly a sound is to be heard ; even 
the lights in the city away off yonder are going out, 
one by one, and we are left alone in this sweet 
balmy air of spring, with God’s dear stars shining 
above there. O my darling, my darling, my 


204 Woman. 

love seems sometimes more than I can bear — it 
is so sweet.” 

You are crying ?” 

^‘Yes, tears of joy, my husband, tears of joy. 
Oh, speak to me; your voice fills my heart to 
overflowing with gratitude and blessedness at my 
happy lot.” 

My beloved wife, you are an angel of inno- 
cence and purity. Thank God for giving you 
to me.” 

Thank God ! Thank God !” 

It was the morning after this night of conjugal 
felicity when George received a letter from Rose. 
She told him that she had ceased to live since he 
had gone away from her. At first, to ease her 
aching heart, she had plunged into all the gayeties 
of Parisian life. But she was weary of everything. 
She would become again the submissive mistress 
of the sweet old days. Would he not come to 
Paris? She would not detain him long; she 
wanted just to look into his face once more, and 
to give him one more proof of that passion which 
she ought perhaps to despise herself for, but 
which she was powerless to resist. 

George read the letter over carefully a second 
time. Every word lighted a new flame in his 
heart. Rose’s sweet caressing voice seemed to 
murmur words of love into his enamoured ear. 


Thy Name is Woman, 


205 


Already the evening before with Marie in the 
moonlight was forgotten. He could hear only the 
summons of his mistress, full of voluptuous im- 
port. Again the Saint Cyprian love-idyl rose 
before his imagination. Feverish with the long- 
forgotten desires that had again taken possession 
of him, he walked hastily up and down the 
gravelled walk of the terrace, seeing nothing but 
the lascivious image of his mistress, hearing 
nothing but her siren-voice luring him on to an 
embrace that would destroy him for time and 
for eternity. 

A soft voice called to him from the piazza: 

George/’ 

0 Marie, forgive me. My thoughts were 
wool-gathering. I have just received news that 
calls me to Paris at once. My old club-friend 
Jules Marklay needs my assistance. I must — ” 

‘‘ Oh, it is not a duel ?” 

“ Oh no, dear. Nothing so terrible as that. 
It is only a matter of money. Jules has been 
plunging and is in a bad fix. I must take the 
four-o’clock train. I can’t leave my old school- 
friend in the lurch.” 

You are not deceiving me, George ?” 

‘‘ Marie, how can you — after last night, too?” 

“ Oh, forgive me !” 

1 will be back in three days, more your lover 
than ever, dear.” 


2o6 


Thy Name is Woman. 


Truly ?” 

‘‘ Truly.” 

Well, then, kiss me.” 

She raised her face to his, and her graceful body 
yielded itself charmingly to his embrace. 

Once more,” he said, “ there on that gold love- 
lock that sprouts so prettily on your temple. 
Where’s nurse ? I want to kiss the boy good-by.” 

At Paris Loudois repaired to the same private 
hotel to which he had brought Rose a year be- 
fore. He sent a note to Madame de Magnac, and 
that afternoon she came to him. She was dressed 
plainly in black silk. A small jet bonnet sur- 
mounted her raven hair, which she wore this time 
parted in the middle and smoothed on either side 
after the bourgeoise fashion. Her languid drawl 
had disappeared and she had laid aside her super- 
cilious manner. She was again the submissive 
mistress of old with the laughing eyes and the 
fresh red lips, where, to use the rather florid ex- 
pression of one of her poet-admirers, her teeth 
gleamed like pearls of light in the cool depths of 
a rose’s calyx.” She spoke again with the low 
sweet voice with which she had used to babble to 
the turtle-doves in their cage by the green-latticed 
arbor at Saint Cyprian. 

Speak to me again. Rose,” said the trans- 
ported lover, as you used to do in those old 
days — you remember — in my chamber. O my 


Thy Name is Woman, 207 

beloved mistress, I will never leave you again — 
never !’' 

But you must.” 

'‘You do not love him still — De Villemont ?” 

“ No ; but I do not intend to be your ruin. I 
have done mischief enough. I have already 
ruined one man — my husband. Oh, I am an ac- 
cursed thing.” 

" O Rose !” 

" It is true. Life is to me a continual punish- 
ment. I tried to forget you by hurling myself in- 
to the wildest dissipation. Poor fool ! I have 
seen the great, the powerful at my feet, and have 
only been nauseated by the love they proffered 
me. Berk disgusts me when he touches me with 
hands that are soiled by contact with — well, I 
will not say. There was a time when I could 
smile at the intrigues, the meannesses, the hy- 
pocrisy, the mendacity of the political life amid 
which I exist. Now it stifles me. Oh, I so 
yearned to see you once more.” 

“ Dear Rose !” 

" But if I had not known myself strong enough 
to resist the temptation to keep you, I would not 
have sent for you. Is it my fault that I sin ? 
I 'am a madwoman, I tell you. I have been mad 
all my life. Sometimes a cruel remorse gnaws at 
my heart. I see pur old peaceful home, where 
Prosper thought me all his own ; I see my baby 


2o8 Thy Name is Woman, 

rocking in her cradle ; I talk of the future with 
my poor old father. Then a wild desire to fight 
my way back to that innocent life possesses me. 
But I cannot. It has been so all my life. My 
thoughts will be peopled with the sweetest vis- 
ions of innocence and purity, and then all of a 
sudden they disappear and everything is black 
again. Oh, I am afraid, afraid. My poor head ! 
I tell you, George, I am sinking into hell. Al- 
ways sin, sin ; always the ruin of those I love. 
Somehow their innocent pleasures hurt me. It 
is because I am mad, mad, mad!” 

Rose came several times more to the hotel and 
then she insisted on her lover’s going home. 

‘'You may come again, some time. But I will 
not have that poor little wife of yours dying of 
grief on my account.” 

But George never came back. Rose’s letters to 
him remained unanswered. The story of her as- 
sociation with the German prince had reached 
him, and had made him feel disgusted with him- 
self and his insane passion for this woman whom 
he now looked upon as an adventuress of the 
most abandoned character. On her side Rose 
plunged once more into the whirl of dissipation. 
This was continued with ever-increasing intensity 
until the day which woke all France from its 


Thy Name is Woman, 


209 


fever-dream of luxury and sloth— the day when 
war was declared against Prussia. 

Then, in the midst of the preparations for the 
conflict that were going on on every side, Rose 
conceived the idea of abandoning the capital and 
retiring to Jarry’s Cross to live with her parents 
and Andr^e until the war should be concluded. 

Well,'' said De Villemont when she mentioned 
the subject to him, you can do as you please. 
The war will be a matter of but a few weeks. If 
you cared to, you might just as well stay in 
Paris." 

'' No, I'd rather go. I want to see my little 
girl." 

Well, we'll see each other again after we've 
polished off these Germans. I shall be a great 
man when you get back. We will celebrate the 
victory royally in our home here." 

That night Rose departed. They never saw 
each other again. 


210 


Thy Name is Woman. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

When Rose drove up to the old farm-house at 
Jarry's Cross, she saw her mother’s gray head at 
the kitchen window. Janette was shelling peas in 
a wooden bowl which she held in her lap. At the 
same time she crooned an old nursery song that 
had been familiar to Rose in her infancy. Andr^e 
was seated on the kitchen-steps busily engaged in 
playing at dinner with the aid of some small tin 
plates and a handful of gravel from the garden- 
path. 

As Rose entered the kitchen and pronounced 
her mother’s name, the old woman looked up at 
her from over her silver-bowed spectacles. Then 
crying, Rose, my daughter, I knew you would 
come back,” she let fall the wooden bowl, and get- 
ting up, fell upon her daughter’s neck, weeping. 
The embrace was long and without words. Pres- 
ently the younger woman turned to her child. 
The little one stared at this elegant lady who was 
about to take her in her arms, and suddenly burst 
into tears. 


Thy Name is Woman, 21 1 

Andree, my child, my daughter, do you not 
know me? ” 

Mamma.’' 

‘"Rose,” said Janette, here is your father.” 

Rose !” exclaimed the old farmer, who at that 
moment appeared at the kitchen-door. Rose ! 
Oh no — no — no !” 

He staggered back as she approached him, 
throwing up his hand as if to keep back some 
baleful presence. 

1 swore I’d kill you,” he muttered hoarsely. 

Then as he saw Rose turn pale at his brutal 
words, he suddenly began to cry himself. Then 
he stretched out his hands to her, and father and 
daughter, sobbing, were locked in each other’s arms. 
But the good old fellow was afraid of her still. 
The rustling of her silks, the sight and touch of 
her rich jewelry and laces, the sweet odors that 
were exhaled from all her clothes, called to mind 
the terrible calamity this creature had precipitated 
upon them all. But he could not find a harsh 
word to say to her notwithstanding his bitter 
memories. So presently he began to talk about 
Prosper. It seemed that the late notary, upon 
the first rumors of war, had enlisted and was now 
a subaltern officer of the ninety-seventh regiment 
of the line on its way to the frontier. Rose listened 
in silence to these news. Presently her mother 


212 Thy Name is Woman, 

removed her bonnet and began to smooth her 
hair. 

^‘Wouldn’t you like to go to your room? The 
old chamber is ready and waiting for you.’' 

Yes, there were the same old pictures of the 
saints hung upon the wall ; the prizes she had 
won at the Castel seminary were laid out there on 
the mantel alongside of the work-box she had used 
when she was a schoolgirl. There were the old 
mahogany bed, the old plush-covered chairs, the 
old blue-and-white striped curtains, the old ivory 
crucifix, the old wall-paper with its roses and 
bullfinches alternating. 

Andr^e was still timid and clung to her grand- 
mother’s skirts. But daring the evening Rose 
devoted herself to her. She undressed her for 
bed when bedtime came, covering her tender body 
with her mother’s kisses. And Andr^e became 
once more familiar and at home with this pretty 
mamma who smelt so sweet and who wore such 
lovely rings and jewelry. She told her mother 
that her father had cried a good deal when he 
went away. Next day she had searched for him 
everywhere, but she could not find him. In her 
opinion her papa was dead. But he would come 
to life again just as mamma had. People did not 
die forever. But Geordie — what had become of 
Geordie ? He had never come back to her any 
more. Never mind ; she didn’t care. She was 


Thy Name is Woman. 213 

getting too big anyway to ride astraddle of old 
Medor. 

The people in the southern parts of France were 
not much disturbed by the first reverses to the 
French arms. But toward the latter part of August 
they had become thoroughly alarmed. On Saint 
Cyprian especially the news of the disaster of 
Gravelotte fell like a thunder-clap. The ninety- 
seventh regiment of the line had been almost 
annihilated. The colonel and all the principal 
officers were dead. Prosper Parent had been 
literally torn to pieces by a discharge of grape- 
shot. Old Clapier brought the news to Jarry’s 
Cross. 

Meanwhile there had been a great deal of trouble 
at the old farm-house. The croup was ravaging 
the countryside, and many children had died of it. 
Little Andr^e was taken down with a severe 
attack. Rose passed ten successive nights in 
agony at the bedside of her child. She who had 
been the pet and plaything of the gayest circle of 
Paris during that last bad year of the Empire, she 
who had coldly and cruelly destroyed the hap- 
piness of two miserable beings, became of a sud- 
den the tender solicitous mother of yore. Andree 
slept in her own chamber. Rose, when she slept 
at all, occupied a mattress on the floor by the 
side of her child’s bed. There night after night 
she listened in agony to the labored breathing 


214 


Thy Name is Woman. 


of the little chest. It seemed to her as if she 
were expiating the sins of her lifetime right there, 
in that chamber. 

When the news of Parent’s death came, Andree 
was convalescent, but Rose was prostrated by a 
severe attack of meningitis. She grew rapidly 
worse, and it soon became evident that she would 
never leave her bed alive. Then she expressed a 
strong desire to see Marie once more before she 
died, and to obtain the forgiveness of this woman 
whom she had so wronged. At first they hesitated ; 
but Rose became so insistent that her mother 
finally requested Clapier to write to Madame 
Loudois, though she did not believe her request 
would be granted. 

Gradually the sick woman’s ideas became ob- 
scured. She began to believe that it was her 
daughter who was dead instead of her husband. 
Her poor head would toss from side to side, her 
white bosom would heave beneath the lace of her 
night-dress, and her eyes would roll vacantly in 
her head. Once she was taken with such a ter- 
rible cryings-pell that the women who watched 
her, thinking she was possessed of a devil, sent 
for the priest. But at the sight of his black vest- 
ments her hysterics increased alarmingly, and the 
good man was obliged to go away without ad- 
ministering the last sacrament. 

When they showed her her daughter, she did 


Thy Name is Woman, 


215 


not recognize her. She knew very well. They 
were trying to deceive her. Andree was dead. 
This was somebody else’s child. Her daughter 
was a good deal prettier than that, her curls were 
much more silky. No, no, it was not her child. 

One evening about dusk she was seized with a 
fit of nervous trembling. She asked for some 
holy water, and dipping her fingers in it tried to 
make the sign of the cross upon her face ; but she 
could not, her hands trembled so. Then she sat 
up in bed and began to stare in front of her. She 
seemed to be in some dreadful mental agony. 
They thought she was on the point of death. 
Disconnected words and sentences fell from her 
palid lips. 

Andree — Andree — my poor little child. She 
is down there nailed in her coffin for all eternity. 
It is I — I who killed her. Oh, how I suffer when 
I think of it ! God may damn me if He chooses. 
Hell — I am not afraid of hell — it cannot be so bad 
as this. My daughter — my little daughter. 
There — there — I can see her — up there — her soft 
gold curls floating over her shoulders — and she 
has great white wings. Hark ! what noise is that ? 
Oh, the hearse !” Then she began screaming, 
I will not die, I tell you ; I will not die.*' 

Once they brought Andree to her, and the little 
thing, crossing her small hands on her breast, said, 
with trembling lips. 


2i6 


Thy Name is Woman. 


See, mamma, I am your little daughter. 
Won’t you speak to me?” 

But the mother, laughing hysterically, cried. 

You little liar, go away ; go away, I say.” 

Sometimes her nervous attacks were so severe 
that Janette to calm her forced her to inhale ether. 
It was according to the orders of the physician. 
The sick woman had conceived a horror for the 
ether-bottle, and when her mother came to her 
bedside threatening to administer it, she would 
become at once quiet and supplicating, murmur- 
ing brokenly. 

Oh, no — no — not the phial — not the phial.” 

Then be careful,” Janette would say, wiping 
away her own tears. 

For fear of the cold they had moved her into a 
big bed in the kitchen. Here for three days she 
rested more quietly. It was on the last of these 
days that young Madame Loudois arrived in an- 
swer to old Clapier’s message. George had gone 
to the war ; Marie herself, but a few months a 
mother, had conceived it to be her Christian duty 
to accede to the dying woman’s petition. 

She did not wish to die until she had been 
forgiven by you,” murmured Janette to the 
young woman as she led her into the sick-room. 
Then leaning over her daughter, she whispered, 

“ It is Madame Loudois who has come to see 
you.” 


T]iy Name is Woman. 


217 


Rose looked up quickly ; presently her features 
began to work convulsively. She seemed to want 
to weep, but the tears would not come. 

'^Thanks,” she said, thanks.” 

Marie kissed her forehead gently and took her 
hands in her own. For a moment it seemed as if 
the touch of the virtuous wife had purified this 
blighted being. Her mouth took on a less bitter 
expression, and her eyes stared less painfully. 

I have done you much harm. Forgive me. 
I wanted to be a decent woman myself. But I 
could not — I could not.” 

Then she shook her head slowly from side to 
side. 

'' If they knew — if they only knew.” 

Marie seated herself in an arm-chair by the bed- 
side, and taking Andr^e in her arms began to 
fondle her. It was high noon. The sick woman 
made a sign that the sunlight hurt her eyes. The 
curtains were drawn, and the room was shrouded 
in semi-darkness. All of a sudden Rose sat up in 
bed and began to stare at Marie with a wild, in- 
sane expression upon her countenance. 

Tell me,” she hissed presently, why did you 
come here ? What do you want ? Ah, I know. 
You’ve come for George. He belongs to me. 
You shall not have him. I will keep him. Go — 
go away. Go away, you hateful, jealous thing !” 

Marie jumped up frightened, and then stretched 


2I8 


Thy Name is Woman. 


her arms out toward the dying woman as toward 
some dreadful apparition. Janette came with the 
ether-bottle. But Rose pushed her back, crying, 

'‘Yes, he is mine, my darling George. I am 
his Rose — his rosebud, he used to call me. And 
I loved him so. You never loved him as I did, 
better than my life. Oh, how beautiful he is ! I 
press him in m}* arms. Oh, how beautiful 

The voice was becoming hoarse as the death- 
rattle approached. 

'' War ! Gravelotte ! Take care. Prosper. There 
is the German prince with his bad, wicked smile. 
Oh, he is dead— Prosper is dead for his country. 
Oh, how I suffer. My brain is on fire. Mercy ! 
mercy ! Oh, look at them — the detestable black 
butterflies ! George, come to me. Oh, Fm go- 
ing mad with the pain. For God’s sake — mercy! 
Oh—!” 

She fell back upon the pillow stone-dead. 

The room was filled with people. The old 
clerk, Clapier, had been standing at the foot of 
the bed. He looked sadly down upon the marble 
facetnat was fast becoming rigid in the sleep that 
knows no waking. The great eyes were closed 
forever, but on the lips there lingered the ghost 
of a voluptuous, scoffing laugh. 

The old clerk felt his heart touched with pity 


Thy Name is Woman. 


219 


in the presence of this dead woman, though slie 
had done nothing but harm all her life long. 

Poor creature !” he thought, poor head, all 
topsy-turvy !” 

That is the word. 

Topsy-turvy ! 


THE END. 




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